TheCapeBlog

We brought home eight more plants from Elhannon – orange and white coneflowers, asters, a balloon flower and a brown eyed susan – and started prepping the circular garden, which is full of weeds and has no color besides green.

We dug out two deep-rooted plants, a suspected hickory tree and a random something else, and a bunch of rocks. We planted the two flowers that Ron had picked out, a balloon flower and a brown eyed susan.

We did a lot of weeding and saved some small flowers like forget me nots for replanting.

Meanwhile, the carpenters installed an LVL in the spot that was the most difficult. They are waiting for advice from the architect before putting the last one in place.

It was arduous because they needed to work from the first floor up. Contrary to what I was told in the beginning, this was a good deal harder than working from the second floor down.

We had a nice afternoon at the MassMOCA courtyard with beer and good music from the F.A.R. Trio.

Afterwards we drove to the Western Summit, where Ron had conversations with some motorcyclists out for a weekend ride.

Yesterday the carpenters installed all but the last set of LVLs. They updated me on plans to demo part of the living room ceiling.

I pruned one of the hollies; surprised at the amount of dead wood.

I installed a paint can opener as a temporary eye to hold the deck door in place.

We drove to Walmart for Ron’s meds.

Cleaned the downstairs bathroom floor and accessories.

Today we did laundry and drained the air conditioner in the bedroom – again. The machine has a capacity of about four cups and we drained close to that much. So, it seems to be working okay, just that it’s been exceptionally humid.

After lunch, we went to the Bennington cineplex, I thought for “Sound of Freedom” which we’d been discussing at breakfast, but turns out Ron thought we’d bought tickets for “Oppenheimer”.

He skipped out of “Sound of Freedom” and watched about two hours of “Oppenheimer”. Meanwhile, “Barbie” played to a full, cheerful, pink-outfitted house.

The carpenters had a banner day yesterday, installed 14 (over half) the LVLs. In lieu of scaffolding or tearing the ceiling apart, they hoisted them through a window. It was a good system, and it worked beautifully.

A handyman replaced the siding around the front door the other day. The entryway looks a lot better but the caulking is not so great.

We did two transfer station runs yesterday, including a couple of barrels of weeds. Disposed of trash, two non-working window fans, styrofoam packing materials from the air conditioners and recyclables.

I finally cleaned the deck with the shop vac. Just as well, it’s raining now and expected to continue all day.

A recent article in the NY Times claims that the wish to be beautiful is healthy, normal.

There’s no question that beautiful/handsome people have an easier time of it than the rest of us. But equating physical attractiveness with moral superiority and societal worth, a belief which religions and advertisers advance with rigorous conviction, is, well, crazy.

Or is it?

My mother abandoned me as an infant back in the baby scoop days when adoptions were conducted in secret and with little understanding of the complexities of profering very young children to strangers.

I grew up with people who were small-boned, exotic-looking, dark-haired As opposite my own English/Scots-Irish/German big-boned, coarse-featured self as could be imagined.

To make matters even more complicated, the supposedly infertile couple had a daughter of their own when I was about 2 years old. Their daughter grew up to be perfect: thin, beautiful, athletic, popular – the favorite of aunts, uncles and cousins. I was the black sheep in every respect: looks, personality, abilities.

So I didn’t grew up beautiful, and it certainly has impacted work, relationships and my place in communities.

I was so hated in my last town, Mashpee MA, that I had suicidal thoughts every day. I was hated at every place I’ve worked. I need to be very careful of how I act around other people in the course of normal affairs so much as that I’ve taken to avoid contact as much as possible.

The irony is that young children adore me, always have. There is no reason for this other than their purity and innocence.

I was blessed with one magnificent aunt who loved me without condition and who understood instinctively that my childhood rages came from a loss that was so bone-marrow deep that it expressed itself as “spoiled brat” non-verbal fury.

Being unattractive has been character-building, I suppose. I have a reputation for rock-solid integrity. Some people might even think of me as kind.

But does that make me or people like me valuable and worthwhile, especially in the United States? Particularly if we pair plainess or homeliness with intelligence?

It seems to be okay to be unattractive if you’re an object of pity, someone other people can patronize or about whom they can feel superior. Especially if a handicap makes a human being something of a family pet, a symbol of a parent’s forbearance, their “ticket to paradise” and guarantee of societal approval here on earth.

The way you look is determined by genetics. Americans’ preference for tiny women, for example, can’t be achieved with sheer force of will: a natural size 14 will never inhabit the executive suite, marry as well or be as well liked in her community as her size 2 counterpart.

And I don’t buy the story that is often advanced about a mythical size 18 woman who has such a sparkling personality that she’s married to a gorgeous man.

Maybe so, but that woman might be living a home life of sheer misery.

Trust me on this one.

Sam from Bennington is here fixing the ugly siding around the front door. I made a quick run to get cash and caulk for him and lunches for us.

Better weather today: cooler, less smoke from the wildfires up North.

I took down the last ugly bird feeder. Yard looks great now, especially after Ron mowed it yesterday.

Among other things, I’ve been filling out product registration and rebate forms for the new air conditioners.

We picked up the shipment from rkMILES.

The carpenters started the layout of LVLs and cut a temporary accessway in the ceiling for the electrician.

I insisted that they set up the air conditioner in their work area. Our big a/c is due to arrive two days early: it’s out for delivery by UPS.

The electrician is scratching his head over a couple of faults. He tried to install a new rocker switch in the kitchen – the old one failed yesterday and kept the lights on – but it didn’t work so I asked for a conventional switch instead. At least we can turn the lights off now.

I picked up pastry from a popup in North Adams and transfer station trash bag stickers at Aubuchon.

Found Ron’s keys in the Corolla.

I watered and half-heartedly started getting tree junk off the deck. Trimmed the front bushes and cleaned the front hall, with a towel and water only, didn’t want to have to rinse everything.

Ron emptied the portable dehumidifier and cleaned the filter. He mowed the lawn, too. I picked up our week’s CSA and brought compostables to the collection bin. Steamed beets for salad tomorrow. Ron ate two ears of corn that had been sitting in water for days.

The new air conditioner arrived and we, mostly Ron, fit it into the living room window “good enough” for now. It made for a very comfortable evening.

Fierce weather tonight.

Left ankle is killing me today.

I don’t remember much about what we did yesterday, Sunday, except that I recalled a song that sent me into a full anxiety attack: “Come Saturday Morning”.

It’s a cynical little ditty about blowing off a friend after spending a carefree day with them, all the time smiling “Saturday morning smiles”, whatever that means. Fake, maybe?

It captures everything nasty and selfish about 1960’s relationships: live for the moment, leave the people who love you behind, avoid commitment, loyalty and the hard work that both involve.

It also glorifies loss and abandonment: “but we will move on…long after Saturday’s gone.” It’s a tragedy, pretending to celebrate friendship and nostalgia when, it fact, it demolishes both with the certain knowledge that good times and good people are few and far between and that the “cool kids” don’t care about either.

Today I did some errands and bought an air conditioner for the third bedroom. We’ll use it in the living room tonight and ask the carpenters to please install it tomorrow.

Ron’s switched and reattached hoses, so we should be all set for watering equipment for this season.

We are missing a set of Ron’s keys.

The check from the ZAI Trust arrived and I deposited it immediately!

I’ve been thinking about a revisit to the Berkshire Botanical Garden and decided yesterday was a good opportunity to do it, as well as to spin off a side trip to Great Barrington.

Neither was the peak experience I’d hoped for and I won’t go back in a hurry.

We did a shop at Walmart and Job Lot, then attended a couple of terrible performances (and one good one) at Lunder Center. Ron wondered “Who booked this tour?”

We held off on watering and just as well: it’s pouring now and expected to last all day.

Neighbors have returned from their vacation.

The “J’s” finished construction work early, so they installed the new door, which looks beautiful – and it works.

“Sparky” was here to install Ron’s ceiling fan/light. He discovered a problem which requires that he have access to the attic. I texted James about adding another opening when they come back on Monday. Also texted Norman about foul smells in the upstairs shower.

I spread mulch around the transplants: Azaleas, Evening Primrose, Phlox.

More sorting of bathroom and kitchen items. Ron did errands.

I sauteed onions and a green pepper and steamed a pile of greens. Did a drop-off of compostables.