Bee Tree Farm

Considering the fact that my “office” looks like this:

my recent purchase of this:

seems somewhat unjustifiable. Not only is my “office” literally packed full of old house stuff including lights, boxes of knobs, hinges, backplates, marble shards, paint samples, an art deco toilet paper dispenser (Hahaha! It seems even more ridiculous to own such a thing when I see it written), but most corners of the house hold some object serving no current purpose but is earmarked for the future place. I passed the point of ridiculous approximately 7 months ago, so now it’s futile to exercise reason or good sense. These attributes are clearly lost on me. And the greatest irony of all is that I’ve waited for the entirety of my professional life to work from home. Now that I finally DO, my “office” has become a storage unit and my workday takes place somewhere between the living room couch and dining room table.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s a mess over here. Too many projects planned and only a fraction started, with none completed. We have spray cans littering the garage next to piles of chipped paint and house parts in various stages of refurbishment. In the midst of this self-imposed chaos I decided to go ahead and plant a fall garden after all. This means that I turned the soil, bought the plants, and now they languish on the front porch, nowhere near the garden. Simon sampled (destroyed) the catnip I never planted, reminding me again that follow-through is important. If the thing were already rooted in a deep, permanent pot, it might stand a chance, but now:

Sigh. At least Simon had one fabulous day hyped up on kitty crack which caused him to slap LuLu three times in the face run in a circle, bite her leg, and saunter away. In its brief life here, the catnip was a big hit.

And then there’s this:

The biggest mess of all. While plants sit dwindling in their tiny plastic containers, old house parts remain encased in rust and lead paint, and laundry needs washing at my current place – the land lives quietly on without us. Its presence a constant whether or not we are physically there. And it represents the worst kind of “messiness.” Projects with no end coupled with an addiction to the place that keeps us coming back to attempt the impossible. New holes to patch in the fence at every visit, fresh trash emerges from the ground after each gentle rain, animals that are never satiated – the perfect jumble of chaos. But I’m starting to get it now. There’s not really a point in life where we grab hold of these messes and set them straight. Life is, after all, one big perfect jumble of chaos, isn’t it? As long as we (ok, I) develop some method to this madness, then it should be a spectacular ride. But definitely no more catnip for this household. And no more sinks. Lord help me, no more sinks.