Thursday, October 8, 2009
The consequence of nesting
Actually, what I have been thinking about is the consequence of being unable to nest. It's disconcerting.
As you know, George the Elder and I are new homeowners. We are new homeowners of a Vision. A dream. A bona fide chimera of the "real" house that we are planning to construct. What we are living in now is the platform for that future magnum opus (or perhaps just a lesser work of genius - who knows?). Point being is that we put the lion's share of our possessions in storage at the start of August. Our plan was to head to the new homestead intent on becoming one with the parts of the house that we would keep and becoming excited about the elements of the house we would change or add. Mostly, this is working out the way we had thought it would. Except for the one aspect. I am a Nester.
I know you're thinking, "Nester? Really?" You're probably also thinking, "Isn't is counter intuitive that a person who historically has sent out more change of address notices than Ian McMover of the McMover Clan is a Nester?" (Well you might not have said it exactly that way, but it should be considered that for the postage that I have paid over the past 10 years to notify friends and family of our new places of residence I could have taken a first class berth on the QEII and sailed around the world a couple o' times).
But the truth is that most of us wanderers are amazingly cracker jack at being able to move in to a house/apartment/flat and make it a home in the time you can say "lickety-clickety." I have never suffered from being unable to get the last-box-unpacked. I have usually had every thing arranged, up, running, hung, done and dusted within days of the moving truck spewing exhaust on the empty boxes as they speed away. Not so this time.
Right now there is little to no nesting that can be done. We have what we came here with. Nothing more, nothing less. End. Of. Story. Getting anything that would spruce up the place would be akin to just setting money on fire and watching it char for the thrill of it. And frankly, with what our dream/vision/opus is going to cost, we have no coin to set ablaze. Each dollar will eventually be cashed in to afford us a sink facet or a kitchen cabinet or the structural engineer's outrageous fee. (Side note to all parents who are advising their children on a potential career choice. Engineer. That's the ticket. Structural, shoring, every-man. Doesn't matter. You need them. You gotta pay them. They know it.)
The upside for me (or downside depending on your perspective) is that the lack of nesting equates to a nearly total absence in motivation for cleaning said non-nest. As I rule, I whole-heartily subscribe to the "dust is the devil's snow" anal-retentive-style of housekeeping. Cleaning my bathroom or whole house dusting would not be considered an unusual daily chore. And daily meant EVERY DARN DAY. Yet, lately, I find myself just wanting to write my name on the base of the flat screen (in both cursive and block letters) or brushing my teeth amongst the flotsam and jetsam that Henry leaves in the sink after brushing his teeth instead. Another excellent example would be that I have been known to mop my kitchen floor a couple of times a week (you know - kids, dog, food preparation, George the Younger's inability to eat anything without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that Hansel would be envious of). Now, given my corresponding inability to nest, I have about zero motivation to mop. And even the discovery of a new found skill of being able to accurately recall what we have had to eat at the last several meals just simply making a quick perusal of the ort and scrap scattered about is not catalyst to fill up the bucket and go to town. I am lost.
I wonder if this is because I can see what it is going to be and cannot realize it in any way, shape or form by scrubbing or scouring? Is it because I am finally starting to address housekeeping like a normal person instead of someone who borders on the need for professional help? Or, is it that knowing that in just several weeks a very large bulldozer is going to come and unearth the soon-to-be basement of our new home and any real cleaning that has been done will be in vain? Who knows? But, whatever the reason, I am feeling nest-less and I don't like it much.