This word, probably just published now outside of any egregious error in spelling, describes my life. After all, it is about the journey. I have been able to go out climbing a significant number of weekends lately. Now that I’m moved into my new loft, I have a hang board nearby, which makes excuses to train harder. Parts of my ceiling are finished. Same with parts of the tongue and groove pine board on my walls. Some of my fireplace is mounted to the wall, though none of the tile. My DC fan, when I buy it, is ready to be installed in the loft. My power inverter is here, and I can hook up electricity once I mount and wire the AC breaker box with a plug. I think with one more two by six in my loft I will feel good about the thousand pound potential of water that can be stored up there, plus my stuff from my storage unit. I need to mount the sink, and plumb the drain. And I will get all of this done, one afternoon at a time; slacksidaisically.
I made an early morning photo documentary of my current state of things:
All said, life is comfortable. I rip on the heater in the morning and within an hour the loft is warm enough to lounge around in my T-shirt. I walked around yesterday in my underwear til noon or so. I try to avoid going out into the cold mornings, with a skill saw, until at least I can work in a long sleeve shirt and hat. Just reading in the morning is a swell way to start every day. I’ll get some tasks done here, or get some kind of paying work in the afternoon, if I’m lucky. I don’t however get much exercise aside from what I get moving greenhouse tubing or plastic or smart pots to different places. I cook dinner before the light goes away(suns out til past six these days!), and eat it in the warmth of my big blue chair, courtesey of my mother. The same one that I sit here now looking into the splotchy white and black peaks with a tint of blue haze in them, signifying the water in the atmosphere. It all matches my exposed denim insulation quite well, the sound cancelling quality of which while exposed is quite pleasant. I’ve never been in a sensory deprivation chamber, but this may be what it sounds like; in the quite of the night, when the wind is not blowing the shingles on the roof.
Well, I need to light off a vaccum in here since I let Muddy climb up the loft stairs(he’s sketched to go down them though). I also have to go meet my neighbor for coffee at nine. I find it comedic sometimes how the older you get the more things have to be planned out in some kind of organized schedule. When I was working at Dogpatch farm in Paonia, Del, the owner and I would have coffee every day at eight. We would talk about the daily itinerary, and lots of other things intermittently. Del was a good ol’ conspiracy theorist, and had some interesting stories about his work as a fish biologist. He had a kind of a wheezing guffaw when you got him to cut up. Probably dead now. Thats what makes life special. We all die.
I looked up slacksidaisical on google, and it seems that the urban dictionary has defined it as relating to one who “wears a dress solely because they are too lazy to put on pants.” If I had a sun dress, I would probably wear it around the house.