Halloween update, soul care for a house

Joyous Halloween, Samhain, Winternight or what name you might celebrate this turning of the year under.

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boys and girls of every age, wouldn’t you like to hear something strange?

I’m still working on the update of the interior, as I’ve fallen under the spell of Getting Slightly Better At Things. The very dangerous point in one’s development on a field where you’ve just gotten good enough at what you’re doing to see all of the little errors left from very early on and also get a ton of new ideas for improvements.

In addition there’s the usual amount of care a house needs after a year or so, the fresh coats of paint etc.

Also, it takes time to grow back the magic, the pieces of soul that invariably gets chipped at or damaged with any extensive rearranging of a house. Taking things slowly allows the change to come more gradually, rather than as a shock. My house needs time to heal from the repairs and various operations. The tipping point between a home and a diy- project is a fine one, particularly with a house where you can’t just close a door and call it a day. And it takes at least as much time to reconstitute my house as a home, reading books in it, lighting the fireplace, curling up in the sofa with a glass of wine, relaxing on the sun deck etc, as it takes to actually build. This might seem like relaxing, but it’s necessary and intense work. Of a more occult kind.

I expect I’ll be done in time for winter at least, and head further south with the last of the swans.

Here at least are some insights to what I’ve been working on, a chance to see the structure before my house again gets wrapped up in mystery.

 

How to be vulnerable, part 1

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Nearly relevant, but quite pretty image of my house in its current position.

Today I spent the whole day sanding down, washing and waxing my kitchen. 

After nearly a year of living and moving, the floor boards are stained, the racks for the pots are knocked out of whack, and there’s a general air of ingrown dinners over the kitchen area.

And as I’m sanding down the pine, first with a coarse grade, then a finer, I come to thinking that while there are plenty of tools and advice around on how to seal things off and close a structure, it’s surprisingly difficult to find tools and ways to keep and maintain an open structure, or, to maintain your vulnerability while not being permanently wounded.

My house is a vulnerable structure. It’s pretty open to the elements in its construction and the materials are not impregnated or heavily treated. This is a conscious choice, to live with something living instead of building a tomb. As I said before, I’m deeply uncomfortable in most modern houses for the reason that they feel like something meant to die in rather than something built for living things. 

But a living thing needs care, it needs upkeep, and to find the balance of closing and opening is the hardest thing any living organism will face. Too open, and you’ll rot or be eaten alive, to closed and you’ll suffocate or starve.

I recall how, back when I was building, I went to get a piece of marine plywood for what was going to be the first attempt on a hatch to access my roof terrace. I went to the store, found the piece I wanted, checked the specifics, and then I asked the sales attendant if the material could handle the rain, meaning that it would not rot when wet in a hurry., as some materials do. He then regarded me with an expression as if I had made a lewd suggestion involving the two of us and a diseased aardvark. When he regained his composure, he carefully explained how I needed to buy a special kind of lacquer and a thinner, sand down the wood, lacquer it with a quite thinned mixture, wait for about two days, repeat, and repeat again at least five times with thicker mixtures of lacquer and thinner. I took a look at what the lacquer and thinner contained, panicked, thanked him for his time and left. 

There are oils, tar solutions, techniques and mixtures you can use to keep wood longer while not building a bio hazard. But a lot of this knowledge is lost and what is left is heavily guarded and not easily accessible to the common crowd or amateur builder, such as me. And most of the building industry is based on the idea that everything has to last forever, or you’ve failed. 

Of course I spin this thought further as dinner dust is clogging up my throat and dulling down my clothes. And I think about how we’re taught to do this with our bodies and our minds, making them rain proof, death proof, indestructible and by this, becoming already dead and a walking bio hazard, as most houses are. 

And we have very few tools to really maintain our minds and bodies. A lot to close them off and fixing them, few on how to care for on a daily, living basis as something living and interacting. This idea I will explore in part two, coming up.

Cooking with the old gods

We interrupt the usual philosophical ramblings for a cooking class. This is; Cooking with the old gods, or; tiny house cooking 101.

Today: How to cook Rosemary chicken with port-braised potatoes, red cabbage and hazelnuts. Yum.

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and today’s wine is from a city I fully intend to reclaim

step 1: Risk your immortal soul by heading out into morning traffic to get to the nearest shop that sells wine and whole chickens. Get stuck in all the diverted traffic to London as the road to the very nearest shop is closed for road work. Curse the self-important gits who push past you as you try to keep within the speed limit because you don’t want to attract too much attention.

step 2: Get lost in a roundabout, see Woodhenge, go back to the roundabout, head the right way to the shop, very slowly this time as there has been an accident on the road involving one of the Very Busy and Important People who pushed past you on your way to the shop.

step 3: Shop tings. Get asked for two different types of ID to buy the alcohol because while you don’t look twenty, you look less human with age and difficult to place.

step 4: Find your way back to where you have parked your house. Scream a lot while doing this.

step 5: Have a very large coffee and possibly a drink.

step 6: (some time later) Make the actual food. This is done by carefully carving the chicken in four while preforming a small rite of memento mori for its short and brutal life, as all lives in essence are, and cursing the industrialization of everything. Brown the precious thing in olive oil with a bit of salt and a large spring of what is hopefully rosemary that you pinched from a near by bush. Let it all simmer on your alcohol stove under a lid for about 20 minutes, also remembering the hell of a time you had getting the burning alcohol for the stove as no shops apparently sell it anymore because some idiot found out it was dangerous.

When the chicken is done, let it rest on a plate under the lid while you fry the peeled and cut potatoes and the shredded red cabbage in the chicken fat along with some extra butter from the local farm. Add a handful of hazelnuts. When the potatoes are almost done, slosh over what’s let of the port you had. Or about half a cup.

If you’re not a carnivore, you can just drop the chicken from the recipe. Double or triple then the amount of hazelnuts and simmer the meal in the fat of your enemies choice.

step 7:

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No, cooked meat never looks appetizing, ever. It always looks like something from the book I’m currently reading. 

Eat outside because the rain stopped for ten minutes. Hurry back inside when the thunder clouds gather.

step 8: Find a way to keep the rest of the chicken cool. And rest.