Abuse of the backspace key

 This song came up on my algorithm and I feel called out. 

Get off my ass, algorithm, I haven’t done that in a long time. 

Our staff met in town for an end-of-year social at a local restaurant. I was excited about it, because I haven’t had a drink with anyone in almost a year and my coworkers are pretty lively, but when we got there everyone sat down stiffly around a square of plastic-covered tables that had been pushed together and they didn’t say much of anything at all. For a bit I just drank my beer and watched them to figure out what was going on: the person on the end doesn’t trust the person next to them. The spouse in the middle didn’t want to come. Those two friends are separated by someone they don’t want to make jokes in front of. There are key people missing. There was no way I was going to get through a blockade of politeness to find out what the fuck was going on with everyone, so I peppered the guy next to me with questions about his dog, home improvement projects, and tv shows until we landed on things he enjoyed talking about (bbq grills and mobsters). After the plates were collected and bills were paid, everyone sat tensely with a hand on their empty drinks, pretending to listen to the overhead music. “They’re waiting for someone else to leave first—we should make a break for it,” I whispered to the lady next to me. “Well, hell, let’s do them a favor,” she said, and we both pushed back our chairs and picked up our purses. The group instantly broke apart like a flock of birds. There was relief and laughter in the parking lot. Staff parties are so weird. 

One week left until school is out, unemployment begins, and Mike shows up to collect the kid for the summer. I feel nothing about him visiting, which is an improvement over anger.

What I have been feeling, walking around the pond on my lunch breaks, is something like… delight? I’ll be walking through flowering trees, feeling happy that my favorite duck still has all four of her ducklings, or that I saw little fish under the bridge, and then the sun will come out or the wind will blow my hair up and suddenly I’ll get a big feeling in my chest and start laughing. I think it’s deep relief, after so many years of tension. Even after all these months it’s still unspooling. 

Light bringer

Report: first second (!?) week of June. Still no glow up. Still no crush. But I made FIRE. And saw DUCKLINGS. And then my neighbor let me drive an excavator.

The wood stove in the studio was kicking my ass, because a) I only had a dollar store fire starter that didn’t really work, b) my kindling was just some paper from a flat-pack furniture box, and c) I couldn’t be bothered to look up how to correctly stack the logs because my phone was way across the room, ugh. Just throw a log in and light it on fire, how hard can it be? People burn their homes down all the time. 

After dozens of clicks on my crap-ass lighter, the flame finally caught, the paper burned up immediately, the stove filled with smoke, and the logs remained unlit. 

The next day I made fun of my fire-starting survival skills and my coworkers tipped me off to the secret of traditional Newfoundland fire-starting: the huge stack of Tim Hortons drink caddies on top of the staff fridge. Turns out part of the reason they’re all Tim’s addicts is because the pressed paperboard caddies burn like artificial logs. After work I took a few from the stack, found some matches, watched a 30 second video on how to stack wood properly, opened the dampers, and had a roaring fire in less than a minute. Annoying how things actually work when you find out how to do them.

And so we will survive the winter, just so long as my office mates don’t give up their London Fog lattes. 

Down at the pond, the spring crop of ducklings has come in. The she-ducks have been conspicuously absent for the past month, and now they’re all along the shores, trailed by little bobbing tribbles. The trees blossomed the same day, and filled with waxwings. I love the season so much. Except for the semen tree by the parking lot. I was not prepared for the smell when that thing activated.

Yesterday evening Zenny and I watched the Great British Photography Challenge, and then grabbed the camera and ran outside. Our neighbor and his little dog waved hello and hopped down from the excavator he’s been destroying his yard with for the past few weeks. I asked what he was building, and he said, “I don’t know yet, buddy lent it to me and I’ve just been playing with it! Want to drive it?” Hell yes I did. Zenny stood at a safe distance while I threw levers and dumped dirt out of the bucket. I was feeling very cool and tough until I saw the photos she took of me, looking like a dog who has discovered itself driving an ambulance. “You were screaming a bit, too,” she said.

Very attractive

                                                                                                                           

Ok that’s enough, I’m going to break something

We waved goodbye to Ernie and Dexter the Shih Tzu, and walked down to the shore to go beachcombing with the camera. I took off my shoes and socks to walk into the freezing water and place a rock where Zenny liked, then tossed pebbles to make ripples for her until she was satisfied. This has been the only activity I’ve been able to really engage her in, so we are going to lean into it. I’ll be happy to get weird about analog equipment and dark room chemicals if she wants to, but we’ll start by learning the basics.

These were her favorite shots:

I followed along behind her and took pictures with my phone, enjoying the textures of the rocks and the reflections of the water.

Feeling pretty happy. 

Back in hot water

My knights in shiny neon vests showed up first thing in the morning, before I could call the plumber. Together, my coworkers pulled the tank out, took me to buy a new one ($700, but it has an 8 year warranty), fixed the janky wiring in the basement, and had me up and running again in 2 hours. They even took the old tank away. I love them.

After getting home in the evening, my boss emailed me, laughing; her water heater just burst. Those hardware store guys must be serious about moving product. Guard your tanks, people.

Plumbing by Dr Seuss

The shower ran out of hot water too fast. I went under the house to investigate, and water was pouring out of the water heater. I shut the valve off and texted Mike (he’s replaced water heaters before). He said to open it up and look inside. Hell no, it is covered in “don’t touch! burning hot!” warnings. Also it is dark and scary under there and I can’t find my emergency flashlight.

So I texted my coworker, and he gave me the name of the local plumber. 

The plumber’s name is Mario. 

I don’t have the money for any of this, lol.

Librarian vs toilet

Saturday was raining sideways, and the trees were fighting to hold on to the sea cliff. I got back from running errands, slammed the door shut against the wind, dropped my shopping bags, and called out to Zenny, “I got carried away and bought a curtain rod and a lamp, and now we’re over budget, so no more spending money until payday! Phew, that means we can stay inside and bake something and watch a movie and enjoy the rainy day! What a good day to stay inside!”

She walked into the kitchen like a golden retriever who had just eaten the couch. “So…”

“Oh no.”

“… I dropped the toilet lid.”

My debit card made a small strangled noise from somewhere inside my purse.

Our ancient toilet has never flushed. I replaced the flapper, the floater, and the handle, and finally gave up when I realized the entire tank mechanism and lining needed to be replaced. The old wine cork holding the thing in place got shoved back in and I put toilet on the “shit to make Mike fix when he visits” list. We’ve had to lift the lid off and pull the chain every time we used the toilet for the past 3 months. 

Zenny led me to the bathroom to have a look at the shattered toilet. We don’t get mad about broken things in our household; my grandfather would fly off the handle about broken glass, and my mother never understood why a jar of jam was worth a punch to the head, so when I broke something as a kid she just picked me up and set me in the hallway so I wouldn’t cut my feet, and swept it up. Mike’s father was the kind to take a belt to his kids when they broke something, so he was relieved to adopt the “eh, stuff breaks” attitude with our kids, too. None of our children are afraid to tell us when they break something, and they don’t get mad when someone else breaks something, either. That generational curse has been broken like a dropped teacup.

We swept the shards into a cardboard box. There was no way to easily replace the lid, since it was an old non-standard shape. And even if we could replace it, the damn thing still wouldn’t flush unless I replaced all the tank mechanisms. Canadian Tire had new toilets in stock for under $200.

“Looks like we’re learning to install a new toilet today. It took this guy on YouTube 4 minutes, so it should only take us about 4 hours.” 

So out into the wind and rain we went. 

There is an employee at Canadian Tire who knows how to fix anything and can tell you exactly what you’ll need to get it done, and while summoning a high school kid with a dolly to haul the toilet to our car, he explained how to install it and what would most likely go wrong. “The first thing that might break will be the shut-off valve and the hose to the toilet, if it’s as old as the rest of it. If that happens, you’ll have to come back and get a replacement.”

And that is exactly what happened. After taking the new toilet out of the box and making sure all the pieces were intact, I tried to remove the old toilet, and the water valve handle immediately broke. 

Back at Canadian Tire, my guy caught me trying to figure out which parts I needed on my own, took them out of my hands, and walked around handing me the correct ones. Zenny and I got to the checkout, and one of the maintenance men from my college was in line in front of us. We compared DIY projects, grabbed snacks at the counter (it is a universally known rule that if you have to be at a hardware store, you get to buy a treat), and discovered we were parked next to each other in the lot. He rolled down his window as we were starting our cars and called over, “You’ve got my contact - send a message if you need help!” “Thanks! You know how to do plumbing?” He made a face and tried not to laugh. Right. Maintenance man. I promised to message him if I broke everything.

The underside of my house is a Dexter kill-room of plastic sheeting and scary rumbling pipes that snake around concrete support columns. I saw a drip on one of the pipes and decided, nope, I did not see that. Not today. Found the lever, shut off the water, ran back upstairs, disassembled the toilet hose, yanked off the valve, shoved on the “shark”, and didn’t realize there was copper ring thing still stuck on the end of the pipe until it was too late. The valve got stuck on the copper thing, and water sprayed everywhere when I turned it back on - Zenny pounded frantically on the floor and I threw the lever off again. The piece was hopelessly jammed. Whatever the shark does to attach itself to a pipe, the fucking thing would not come off no matter how hard I pulled. 

After about an hour of pulling and swearing, all I had managed to do was injure my arm, knock over and spill an entire bottle of toilet cleaner into the tub, and hit myself in the face with a wrench. Also, I needed to pee, and I was not about to do it in the sink or the blue-goo-covered bathtub. I messaged my coworker. 

20 minutes later, his wife and I were standing in the hall watching him fight with my toilet valve. He couldn’t get it off either, but he knew what I needed to do. “Ok. You’re going to need to cut the pipe behind the copper seal, sand off the paint, and get a new shark. It’s easy and the cutter don’t cost much. We’ll still be in town for a bit if you needs us to come back.” He gave me a little plastic shark-remover tool, just in case something went wrong with the next one, and some emery paper for the pipe, and I waved goodbye to them. First visitors! I was glad the place was reasonably clean. Except for the disassembled toilet in the hallway and the blue crime scene in the tub.

BACK TO CANADIAN TIRE. Now on first-name terms, Scott from Hardware showed me which pipe cutter I needed and how to use it. I was tired by then, and took a moment to look at the tool in my hand and focus on remembering his instructions. I had managed to cut myself on the broken toilet without realizing it, but couldn’t wash my hands without the water on, and we both noticed the smeared blood and dirt on my hands at the same time. He gave my shoulder a sympathetic pat and said, “Ah there, bless you. Just… God bless you.” I appreciated that he didn’t suggest I give up and hire someone. Any dumbass can learn to cut a pipe, and I got the feeling he had faith that I’m just as much of a dumbass as anyone else. 

Mug shot of perpetrator

And it worked. I cut the pipe. Jammed in the shark. The seal held. After draining it and cleaning up, the toilet itself took about 10 minutes to change out, maddeningly. Scraping the old wax seal off the hole in the floor was something I was not prepared for, mentally. It was like cleaning earwax out of a very large ear. Disgusting and somehow… wonderful? Brains are weird and terrible things to have.

Zenny and I crowed in triumph and spent some time flushing the toilet and watching it go. You just press the lever! And it flushes! So fancy! “I should have had you to drop that thing a long time ago,” I told her.

I texted my coworker the good news and thanked him for helping. And now I have a pipe cutter, so I can get a side gig breaking other people’s toilets, I told him. That is called job security, Cyril, you’re welcome.

And after all that, I did not take a picture of the new toilet. I still kind of like the shape of the old one, so I think I’ll stash it in the tool shed and see about refurbishing it later. If I can find a lid for it and replace the tank mechanisms, maybe I can eventually replace the urinal-to-nowhere in the studio with a toilet-to-somewhere.

On Sunday I baked a loaf of banana bread to thank my coworker and his wife for coming to help, and made “dot cakes” with Zenny. Social media influencers spend a lot of time inventing stupid recipes, and someone decided that cupcakes could be improved on by baking a thin sheet cake, punching holes out of it with every jar in the cupboard, scraping an inch of frosting over them, smashing them in sprinkles, and throwing away the rest of the cake. We watched a cute video of a stoned man in his underpants making a mess of them, and decided it looked like fun. And it was! We only had a bite, though, because by the time they were done we had eaten enough cake scraps and frosting to make ourselves sick, and also 50% of our household has a broken tooth that does not want anything to do with candy gravel. Zenny will eat them after school during the week.

We ran out of ramekins so we used our drinking glasses, and now we have to drink everything out of mugs. 

And now it is June. It snowed in St. John’s this morning. I laughed.

- -

Still no crushes to report. I am not devoted to this hobby, I just thought it sounded better than caffeine addiction.

ANNOUNCEMENT

Leif got a full scholarship for all 4 years at University of Glasgow, including room and board! HOLY SHIT THIS IS HUGE. They only award this scholarship to one international student per year! He’s worked so hard and has only ever wanted to go to this school, and it’s happening for him. I’m so happy for him, and so proud!

Amazing.

Cooked or chopped?

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that no less than three members of the fire brigade were discovered to have taken up residence in the library yesterday afternoon. One of these gentlemen startled the librarian mid-luncheon with a knock upon her study door to beg admittance to the WIFI, leaning against the doorframe in such a way as to provide full vantage of his Russet physique. Once informed that no cypher was required, the gentleman returned to his companions in glad spirits and the three of them proceeded to perform distance training with a full complement of their Team at high volume for upwards of two hours, followed by an enthusiastic summarization of their learnings through a multi-part pantomime of flatulence in all its varied forms. Indeed, their winds were so convincing that they blew shut the librarian’s door, and she required ten minutes’ repose upon the carpet to consider her romantic aspirations.

There is but one day left before the brigadiers return to their duties—however, a special event next weekend affords opportunity for contacts to be reestablished, should the invitation be extended. Will this season end in parboil, or may it yet be twice-baked? Boldness is all. Seize the handle on the oven of love and throw yourselves in, dear hopefuls!

Back on my bullshit

This train of thought is heading toward a gap in the tracks, but I’m going along with it for now.

Here is the thing: I am annoyed about the “post breakup glow-up” thing that is not happening. Instead I gained 15 lbs, then lost 2 lbs and hit a plateau, because meeeeeh. I need to give more than half a shit if I want to get anywhere, but I don’t have any motivation. I have depression and a toaster oven.

Well, you know what motivation works for getting buff, besides horrible crushing stress? A horrible crushing crush. It worked in my 20s anyway, but anxiety has been doing all the heavy lifting since then. I feel like maybe it would be fun to have a crush again. The question: can my brain still do that? I don’t know. I definitely don’t want to date. I don’t even really want to talk to anyone. But that is not the trick here - the trick is tricking myself into catching feelings just enough to get stupid and make protein shakes and fit into cute pants again. (My own.) People can get a crush on anything - a person, a fictional character, binging noises on your phone. How hard can it be?

OKAY THEN. As soon as I clapped my hands and fluffed my hair, feeling ready to go out into the world and make a fool of myself in the name of self care/revenge, Zenny decided to start Teenage Bed Wars*, and it shot a hole in my confidence. My hair deflated. OKAY, TAKE TWO. After work I bought a Guinness and watched The Fall Guy (my emotional support movie). Now I have a soundtrack and a leather jacket, let’s go.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, exactly. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t go anywhere, and I’m not signing up for any apps. On cue, campus filled up with firemen. Just dozens and dozens of firemen, all corralled in the student lounge between training sessions. I don’t have a special thing for firemen, but I know a romance trope when I see one, so I went skidding in there to get some packets of creamer and have a quick look at the situation. Well, well, well. The weather has warmed up, the coats have come off, and… all these firemen still look like potatoes. That’s ok. Everyone likes potatoes, right? I just have to figure out how to tell them apart and find one that tells jokes or has a cool tattoo or something. 

While I was roaming around on lunch break, one of the janitors caught me staring into the staff fridge at my boiled eggs and yogurts. 

“What’re y’at?” he said.

“I was hoping some other kind of food would appear if I looked long enough.”

“You like classic rock?”

This guy is about 70, watching a 1960s guns-and-cars kind of show on the staff tv. “Yeah, I do, I like Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath -”

“Peter Frampton, John Fogerty, David Gates, Willie Nelson,” and he went on, just naming a list of musicians, mostly ones I absolutely would not classify as rock. Then he folded his arms and said, “The Guess Who is Canadian, you know,” with a bit of challenge in his voice. Oh no, this was one of those dudes-testing-a-chick kind of conversations. 

“Yeah, So Long, Bannatyne was a good album,” I said. 

MISTAKE. He started naming bands faster. “Al Stewart, John Prine, Rush-”

I started naming bands back. My mother was one of those 70’s teens who spent all her money on subwoofers and vinyl, and I was an unsupervised only child in the 80’s, COME AT ME, BRO. “Deep Purple, Moody Blues, Alice Cooper -”

“Alice Cooper! His big hit was Only Women Bleed!”

“It was not, it was School’s Out, and that wasn’t even the best song on the album!”

Goddamn it. I was supposed to be trying to find an imaginary boyfriend, not fighting with a septuagenarian who likes Ted Nugent. I grabbed a boiled egg and slammed it on the counter to crack it, “Gotta go, I have an egg!” And I ran for it.

Now he’s been haunting the library, hoping for a re-match.

This is going to take some work. At least if I’m avoiding the staff room, I can’t eat all my snacks.

I hear firemen in the lounge, engage your core.

* I asked her to make her bed, she wouldn’t. I patiently made her bed for her, she threw it apart. I impatiently made it again, she tossed it. I made it a THIRD TIME, not-at-all-patiently explaining my lowest-bar expectations for teenage housekeeping, she snuck in 1 minute later and trashed it. I threw all her blankets and pillows on the floor and made a noise like a t-rex. We went to work/school. I cracked a beer when I got home at 4:30pm and dropped fresh sheets on her bedroom floor like I didn’t give a shit, she looked alarmed and thought she broke my brain. She made her bed. 

Leif graduates

I am a puffy mouse-eyed wreck. Look at this kid.

We stayed up until 2am to watch the ceremony from the phone, cheered for him, and sent him congratulations money. The graduating class sang Legacy and danced hula at the beat change. When they got to “we had a wonderful time, thanks for the memories” I cried my damn eyes out.

I’m so proud of him, and of Eva. She’s class president, valedictorian, and starting pre-med as a biochemistry major at Penn State. Her family buried her in leis. The two of them spent the evening on the beach outside her house, playing a loud slapping game of cards and chasing crabs with their closest friends while my family partied with her family (my mother reported on this and enjoyed the food). Their friend group is making life plans, getting excited about all the places they’ll visit together on school breaks. I love that for them.

I’m a mess. High school graduation is a big deal in Hawaii. I wanted to be there for Leif. I am having BIG FEELINGS about it. Along with that, I am PISSED AT MIKE. But you know what? We have firemen at the college all week for some kind of training course, so I am going to go get a cold Tim Hortons coffee and look at them. With my eyeballs. And then hide in my office. Because I’m not actually interested in firemen. 

Anyway. It was Leif’s day, I love him a lot, we’ll be back together for his birthday, and I’ll be making up for lost time in baked goods. 

Congratulations to the class of 2026!

Dept of Misc

Booked my tickets back to Hawaii for the summer. Goddamn it. 

Tim was very excited to hire me as a sub while he goes on vacation, so I’ll be spending a few weeks working my old job. GODDAMN IT.  (I’ll be glad to see my favorite library people again, though.)

It rained, and the tool shed flooded. I don’t have a ladder or wood or shingles to fix the roof, so I set up buckets and tubs and containers to catch the leaks. One of them was a bit flimsy, and I had it shoved up under the beams, so when I pulled it down it collapsed under the weight of the water and dumped it all in my face. And nobody was there to see it. 

This weekend was a beautiful warm holiday weekend, and town is shut down until Tuesday!

I broke my tooth on Saturday. 

Planted a rose bush. 

Painted a daffodil. 

Fixed the laundry line and hung clothes out to dry. 

Got mad at my knitting because I ran out of the color I needed and forgot to save the label so I could buy more.

Saw Project Hail Mary, through… means. Very fun, Zenny’s re-reading the book again.

Currently listening to the new murderbot book.

This week: adventures in dentistry. Is there a dentist who can fabricate caps anywhere on the peninsula? We will find out. At least it won’t cost $600 a cap like it did in Hawaii. Unless I have to drive to St. John’s to get it - gas is rising so fast, the Triangle station finally just gave up and unplugged the pricing sign.