Screen Time

I just nursed my cat after she got into a nasty fight: her eye is very swollen and she seems quite sad. I drove to the grocery store to buy wine and soda and bread; as I drove home I realized how I want to organize my book.

About two weeks ago, a notification popped up on my phone to tell me that my screen time was down 30 minutes, or perhaps it was 30%, from the previous week. I was at 3 hours 35 minutes per day. I looked at the screen in disbelief. Surely this was impossible. How had I used my phone, no, looked at my phone, for an average of 3:35 a DAY? It was at this moment that I realized that if I want to make jewelry, make quilts, make clothes, write a book, start a business, and somehow get it all off the ground in the next 4ish years, I have to reduce that number from 3:35 to about 1:00 or less.

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Apple’s Screen Time Proves You’re Addicted to your iPhone

I wonder how I got to 3:35. Is it just patterns of behavior cultivated over a long and leisurely summer? Is it avoidance? Is it the power of distraction? Is it boredom and not choosing to do the “hard stuff” because it takes energy/time/it is hot outside? All of the above? (I think the latter).

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NPR

Tonight I was driving through the dark night streets of Elgin. I drove west on Central Ave, past the documentary filmmaker’s home and the Sawyer Foundation. I drove slowly past three cats who were playing in the street, unaware or ambivalent to my presence in a large, silver station wagon. I stopped at the stop sign and wondered if anyone else would also stop. (They didn’t). I drove further up the street and looked at the yard of pyramids of bricks, and the empty lot that is for sale for too much money. I noticed that the little yellow house on the edge of the woods has new lights that line the drive. I love that little yellow house. I wondered about the goats that play in the field, further down the street, and what their owners do with them, if anything. I noticed a scurrying in the grass on the right, and realized it was a medium-sized opossum, who promptly scampered across the road.

I went to HEB and saw a student and bought my groceries and used my coupons to no avail. I walked outside and saw my favorite guy who works at the liquor store who hadn’t had time to buy beer tonight despite the fact that he works at the liquor store. I find this very funny. There was an old hippie lady in the parking lot, smoking, who glanced at me. A man was complaining about buying a house with his girlfriend who has a kid. He said next time he would find someone without a kid, and the lady he was talking to said, “yeah, but that’s hard to do!”

In other words, screen time, for me, is distracting. I suspect it is designed that way. I use the built-in Apple app now to help me monitor myself and have brought myself down from 3:35 to about 1:30, so I am on the right track. I suspect this is where all the noting came from tonight. I suspect this is how the book idea came together. I was daydreaming, whilst driving, about cooking with Martha’s housekeeper Rani, in India, and about how I want to write a cookbook with her but I don’t know how. The radio was talking about counterfactuals and about how it is natural for our brain to invent alternative reality endings when bad things happen. I started to think about time passing very quickly and about how I will be 39 this year and there is no time like the present. I started thinking about the old post oak tree that has to come down in the front yard that has been growing there, probably, for almost 200 years and how it is just its time. Just its time.

Book time. Me time. Less screen time. You?

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Screen Time is Just As Bad for Adults

 

An Ode to Termites: or, the Flexibility of Dreams

Dreams are funny things: moments of memory that catch in your heart, propelling you through time, or perhaps, fantasy. It’s hard to say.

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Ever since I was a little girl, or perhaps ever since I was about 10 or 12, I have wanted the same thing. I have wanted a small house in the country with enough land to have a few alpacas and a couple of sheep. Long ago I decided if I was a very rich lady, I would have one house here in Texas for the winter, and one house in Maine for the summer. One can’t, after all, limit one’s dreams! What would be the point?

The crazy realization came a few days ago when I realized that I am in the process of buying a small house in the country with enough land to have a few alpacas and a couple of sheep. It is a small house in Elgin, and it is made of many bricks and tiles. So many bricks and tiles, as a matter of fact, that it strikes the beholder as a bit mystifying. I don’t really know how all of this happened, being that at this time last month, I was swallowing the bitter pills of attachment, loss, and grief. This month, November, came with a house for me, and……a new studio!!! Who’s to say what turn in the road is ahead; I suppose it is only true that we must continue to walk it.

The house that I am trying to buy is not mine yet, and today I had a very interesting inspection with a wonderful inspector named Travis. Maude from The Big Lebowski kept popping into my mind while I was waiting for him in the backyard, after I had tired of walking around behind him, going “oh my god!!!” after a very significant discovery was made: I kept hearing her say, “he’s a good man, and thorough.” Travis took the full three hours to finish the inspection of this old brick house. He discovered, to our mutual dismay, a crazy amount of termite damage.

That sounds scary, until I tell you the magic and mystery of the Brick House. It is about 98% brick, concrete, and tile. Barely a smidgen of it is made of wood. Unfortunately, we discovered today, that all of that wood has to be replaced. I was a little upset for awhile and even chatted with my partner, Cody, about possible solutions and almost killed him when he suggested welding I-beams together to make frames for windows. I lost my mind when I asked him when the last time he welded was, and he said 1998. It turns out that what Cody was trying to say, in his somewhat mysterious and indecipherable (sometimes) love language, is that he wanted to help me make a beautiful house. When he finally said that, I forgave him and we realized what to do.

Remove the wood! What? You can’t just REMOVE THE WOOD!?!? Oh, but we think that you can, because, as I said above, the house is 98% concrete, brick and tile. It has no wood framing, but is made entirely of bricks and concrete bricks. It has a concrete ceiling for crying out loud. The only wood in this house is in the trim work: the door frames, the window-frames, and the doors. No big deal. Our idea was borne from beautiful homes with arches like these ones (yes I realize these homes have wood in them):

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The above three images from the wonderful Instagram – Gold Dust Collective

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Concrete art by David Seils 

And we soon realized that all was not lost, and just because you can pull apart the door jambs in this house with a set of, I don’t know, tweezers, hope springs eternal in the creative brain. The plan is to pull all of the wood out, and re-sculpt the trim areas with concrete stucco, a la Southwestern houses shown in many stunning architectural magazines. After all, who says that all door frames have to be rectangular?

Tuesday I have another inspector coming, an engineer this time, and the, ahem, termite guy. If the engineer gives me the go ahead, and that we have structural integrity despite the efforts of termites, I will move ahead into the land of alpacas, sheep, stucco and a giant garden with lots of flowers. I have decided that the owners have to pay to drop a termite treatment of sizeable proportions onto the house before I will buy it. After all, I can’t be *that* crazy.

November: your soil is a-turning and what it is releasing is very interesting. In the back of the property today, in the overgrown back-40 that I learned used to be a horse pasture, we found an old tractor. Turning the soil, indeed.