~o~
Sunday 11th 48F/9C. Overcast and windy. Sunshine promised for later. Peaking just below 17C/62F.
Up at 6.40 after a quiet night.
I must stop avoiding the herd of elephants in the parking space! Nobody else is going to tidy up the remains of the observatory. I just can't make my mind up as to what to do with it all. If I throw it into the sunken area beyond it will be simultaneously in and out of the way.
It can't be easily buried I ever do get some rubble to make up the level. The builder next door has a load of rubble to be rid of. He tried to deliver it in wet weather and the ground was too soft. No to mention the 100+ meters of reversing down the narrow drive with a heavily loaded trailer. He also had several helpers to unload his trailer at the time.
Taking all the timber to the recycling yard would be tedious and very time consuming. Despite its initial cost I don't place any real value on this timber. It has served its purpose and owes me nothing but the memories of its creation and construction. It's years of use and eventual [controlled] downfall. I could build benches in the workshops but to what purpose? I have completely lost interest in my lifetime of countless projects. Using it for firewood limits it to bulky kindling. Unless I start splitting it with an axe.
All the most obvious options seriously question how I value my time. I now pick and choose what to do with my days mostly on a whim. With some bias on appearances, essentials and my mood. I am spoilt rotten for choice. I have no pressing economic worries. The house is paid for. More by default than anything else. The mortgage had simply reached its natural end.
I have a fun vintage car or e-bike to escape to the pretty and quiet, rural lanes. Or to go shopping in the towns and cities. The very isolation, on the end of a long rural drive, places no great pressure on me to make the place look smart. Which would be difficult to achieve without external, skilled help now. For which I have absolutely no desire. The employment of tradesmen to upgrade the electricity, plumbing and drainage has been a costly but essential exercise. Albeit one I could afford. Spending money is now a state of mind. After a lifetime of being careful.
My near obsession with displaying my late wife's collection of china and glass has not been particularly rewarding. I went to great lengths to find suitable display cases. More time on fitting them with modern LED lighting. Then arranging the contents with my usual, clumsy haphazard haste. This project was completed just as the days and evenings became lighter. With an amazingly dry and sunny spring. The cabinets had no real need of lighting.
They were almost magical once completed. Until they became multiple shrines to my late wife. As if to ward off the pangs of guilt that she never enjoyed such displays. Most of her vast collections was wrapped in newspaper. Then hidden away in stacks of cardboard boxes.
Then came the dull realization that it was largely her own fault. For hoarding unwanted and completely unnecessary furniture. Flatly refusing to allow any thinning out. Which also made it impossible to redecorate or further repair our shared rural hovel. Which we bought in haste on our arrival in Denmark. For reasons I will not go into here.
I am still deeply depressed by her absence after 55 years of marriage. Though I am functioning well enough on the surface. I am constantly reminded of her. I have a bottomless pit of memories to dredge. The pain of her loss has slowly subsided. Or at least has become more distant. Yet still fills my nights [and days] with flashbacks.
Nothing I do to display her things has really helped. I even feel guilty at having achieved so much on my own. Her parting left me free to make the improvements denied to us both for so long. I still hate going upstairs. Where we spent so much of our time. Surrounded in the chaos of storage of items which rarely ever saw the light of day.
I had my Hifi and all the construction projects to enhance it. Only to go deaf. A series of TVs was watched across the upstairs landing. Mostly by my wife. As I provided UK TV visa an assortment of ever larger dishes. I was never a TV watcher. Though we enjoyed weekly films at the weekend. First by hired VHS and later DVDs and Blue Ray disks.
I spent my indoor, waking hours on the computer. Blogging or contributing to online forums. Later there was YouTube and Netflix streaming. There was always plenty for her to watch. While my hours were consumed in cycling, astronomy or building some project or other.
I readily admit I like the new freedom from being nagged. To attempt the near impossible under impossible conditions. With only narrow paths between the lifetime collections. There was always poor access. I could not talk my wife into upgrading anything.
When I was finally left to my own devices I got rid of an unbelievable quantity of stuff. Every item leaving me with pangs of guilt. The sense of disloyalty at the disposal of Her things. As if every item that I donated to charity. Or dumped at the recycling yards. Was deliberately distancing myself from Her.
So that handling anything connected to her brought painful emotions. I was torn between keeping and discarding everything she had touched. The problem was always the multiplicity of things. The airing cupboard stuffed [neatly] full of bedding which was never, ever used. The cupboards full of household items. The dozens of cheerfully coloured, plastic buckets.
The three wardrobes worth of smart clothes she had never worn. Not once. Not ever. We never went anywhere socially. Not ever. Our restaurant visits or the cinema were once only event in a whole half century. We would go to real ale pubs in our relative youth. That was about it. For years she would dress smartly but casually for our countless strips to charity shops. At home she went around in holey rags for years. Never wanted to go out for the last few years.
8.00 Time for my morning walk. The habit is deeply ingrained. Got to stay fit. Though working in the garden is probably more beneficial physically. It doesn't have the therapeutic, psychological benefits of escape.
8.50 And back again. Surrounded by birdsong at every step. Until the empty silence of the open fields. The sun arrived to take the chill off the easterly wind. I wandered about in the garden on my return. Admiring my handiwork in taming the brambles. While desperately looking for a place to stash multiple ladders and stepladders.
"Out of sight, out of mind" is not really the proper term for dealing with my rural isolation. My one, or two visitors per year, place absolutely no pressure on my keeping up appearances. Otherwise the hideous mess of jumbled timber would be gone already! Shame is strictly a matter of discovery. I do make a serious effort indoors on expectation of a visitor. More of a shameful catching up. Than true Spring Cleaning!
Three years after her loss I have absolutely no desire to replace my wife.
The idea of a new companion, girlfriend or [god forbid] lover is repulsive to me. I
have no need, nor any desire, at all, to share my open space and remaining
years. There is no fantasy figure hovering at the back of my mind as a
possible substitute. Though I might be tempted by a self-loading, washing-up machine. Some time down the road to AI/robotics heaven I would imagine. If it can double as a robot mower then all the better.
I have just enough of a social life for comfort. I was always a loner. My deafness in noisy company and limited skills at Danish. Inhibit further interest in mixing more widely. There is no way in hell I would invite anybody home in its present state. Both inside and out.
9.50 10.00 Morning coffee and wittering over. I am going to have a look at that waste timber. Let's start with the ladders. Which are in the way of my making any serious progress. It doesn't matter where they go. As long as it's not there.
11.00 60F/15.6C. Warm sunshine. An hour spent and I am knackered and dripping with sweat. I haven't touched any wood yet. Just moved the ladders and veranda fencing out of the way. Then collected all the metalwork from the observatory. The industrial quality, rotation rollers and the parts for the massive, equatorial mounting, trailer pilot wheels for trolleys, etc.
12.00 Now add breathless to the list. I had better have a rest before lunch.
I have moved all the plywood to a single heap. Now metric 8'x4' and waist high. Mostly grooved, cladding plywood. I must be aging. Dragging the full sheets on edge along the ground was very hard work! The grippy, rubber coated gloves always help. The west facing shed wall is now clear.
There was a lot of plywood stacked on edge between the buildings. It has bowed over the intervening years but I had no choice back then. There was nowhere to put anything. The entire area to the west of the buildings was sunken. Densely covered in saplings, bushes and trees.
I have felled all these unwanted trees, shrubs and the massive dolobrata hedge. Then brought up the ground level with self compacting gravel. Still lots to do if it is to be the same level throughout.
This will provide plenty of casual parking on level ground for the future. As well as space for the carport. I haven't touched the heap of gravel for ages. It is as solid as a rock now. There is no room for a lorry to deliver more until the timber has gone. A skid steer, mini bucket loader would be incredibly useful.
15.20 Having another go.
16.00 61F/16C. Back in again. I have sorted the terrace boards from the construction timber. The boards are stacked untidily against the workshop. I don't think any of it is really worth saving. It is planed larch and cost quite a lot. None of the stainless steel Torx screws would undo. So every board had to be broken free from the joists with a large crowbar. Leaving all the screws sticking out at odd angles.
Then I made a stack at the front for the recycling yard. Mostly lengths of timber which cannot be separated. Or so heavily festooned with screws. As to make it worthless. Not without time consuming effort.
Lots of clean lengths of timber were thrown to the back out of sight. For further sorting into nominal sizes. I am not sure the untidy heap looks much different. There is another heap trapped under a plywood wall panel at centre. Which I am now too tired to clear today.
Dinner was chicken, mushrooms, peas, boiled potatoes and proper gravy.
~o~
