Tobie and I went for our morning walkie at sixish, me lugging a hamper of dirty clothes.
Up until a little over six years ago I washed my laundry by hand in the front yard, weather permitting – it tended to pile up in winter but I did what I could in the sink. Then S&L moved in full-time and Neighbor S insisted on washing my clothes for me once a week, and that became part of the routine and I grew dependent on it. Now recently I’ve scored a second-hand washer that works fine once I figured out how to properly install it, and I’ve been fining in the procedure(s) for doing it myself just like a regular person.
I’ve put several small loads through the procedure to get it right, but this is the first morning where I brought the hamper and got it all done at once – except for gel socks, which are separate. Just like a regular person. Tobie and I took our walkie while the machine was doing its thing the first time, and I had some work to do in Ian’s place during the second load.
This is a process that’s been going on since I got here, really. At first I was virtually camping, everything was improvised, nothing was settled, and life could sometimes be quite uncomfortable. Progress away from that was halting and fitful, with long intervals where I sort of settled into “by my standards” but then punctuated with sudden major improvements that were almost disruptions in themselves, like…
* Moving into the cabin
* Getting a woodstove that worked
* Getting an electrical system that worked
* Getting the cabin sided
* Getting a decent set of batteries
* Building the bedroom addition
…and so forth. I gradually came to a point where I wasn’t improvising anymore: I recall writing two years ago “I was just thinking the other day about how it might be time to retire the blog because it’s less and less about the adventure of roughing it out alone in the boonies and more about an old man quietly living in a cabin with a Corgi.” Well, Bad Things happened to the Corgi only two months later and now it’s an Anatolian Shepherd (who tried to have an adventure with some cattle this morning, BTW, and was rather miffed with Uncle Joel for interceding) but the principle is the same. The point of moving to the boonies was not to have hair-raising adventures but to live quietly.
And the quiet life is getting more comfortable all the time.