Underdo

And indo. Underdo is the opposite of overdo, and I think makes another fine mantra, along with “It’s only money.” And indo is the opposite of outdo, though that implies some sort of competition with someone else, which is not my problem. My problem is my own time management practices and OCD / addictive / perfectionist tendencies: Just that other strand of ivy! Just that other weed! Just 15 more minutes on the phone with my friend! Ten unexpected free minutes? That means I can do this and this and this!

I ordered a fleece-lined flannel shirt last Thursday evening, from Ireland, and was astounded when it arrived today. It is a really nice shirt: of substantial weight, handsome looking, and very soft and warm (LeeValleyIreland dot com). Hmm, I wonder if there could ever be a situation where I’m wearing my one fleece-lined flannel shirt and accidentally dribble an entire tablespoon of olive oil down the front, so then I put on my other fleece-lined flannel shirt and dribble an entire tablespoon of olive oil down the front of that shirt.

I told our realtor that I had not heard from the surveyor she recommended. She said she had never heard of him not returning someone’s call and said she would try to reach him today. I got a call from him this morning. He said he would send a proposal. I was wondering how, if the surveyor just puts pins at the corners, someone installing a fence would be able to follow the line from pin to pin. I started to compile a list of questions to ask the surveyor, but when his proposal arrived today, it answered all of them. Before I looked at it, I said to myself that as long as it wasn’t more than a certain amount of money, I was going to accept it, and it wasn’t more than that.

For the price, they said they will accurately determine the boundaries, set pins of such-and-such description at the corners, locate any encroachments, set additional stakes between the corners to clearly mark the lot lines, prepare a certified drawing, and give me CAD and PDF files. This sounds excellent. I wrote back that we should go ahead and schedule.

I have been stewing over where to put what pieces of furniture, both those left behind by our parents and the few things I will bring from San Francisco, and had felt kind of overwhelmed by the task, interior design not being one of my talents. But the invisible hand must have been working in the background, because yesterday evening it suddenly all became clear what should go where.

In San Francisco, I used to have an enormous salad for breakfast and something smaller for dinner. My breakfast routine could take three hours or more; it was often 3 p.m. by the time I was finished. Somehow that became reversed here, in part because I didn’t like the idea of the day not really starting until 3 p.m., with gardening to do and walks to take. I lately concluded I was going to have to ratchet my whole schedule to be earlier, by force if necessary, and I think this is going to work out. I never thought it was a good idea to eat such a substantial meal in the evening, per the adage, “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper.”

In part I was having a quicker breakfast here because I like to have that meal on the deck if weather permits, and I didn’t necessarily want to sit out there for an hour or more during the actual eating part. My plan now is to have breakfast indoors, probably, but then allow some time for sitting on the deck reading afterward. (Yay, retirement!) (Being a hospital chaplain seems like something that happened long, long ago.)

Today Digby the tree guy came with his crew to scour the property for buckthorn, which is an invasive species, and remove same. I heard one of the crew members exclaiming over something: In an impenetrable area of underbrush and trees, he had discovered what he said was the largest lilac he ever saw. It is ancient, but not dead. I had no idea it was there.

I also spotted today what I’m pretty sure is a skein of poison ivy (leaves of three: let it be) going up a hawthorn in the front yard, thanks to my walk with my friend a couple of weeks ago. She showed me how to identify it: two mittens and a glove. I will look up how to safely remove it.

There was a vague thought that had come to me about retiring in San Francisco, some way it would be undesirable, and it has finally come explicitly into focus. It is that retiring there would mean for the most part being either inside my living space or in an urban environment, whereas being retired here means being inside my living space or truly outdoors, in actual green nature, even if it is not a vast wilderness.

I am now satisfied that I have made the right decision, and hope to clear out my apartment during my upcoming trip to San Francisco. Every single day, the yard here is different. There was much more orange to be seen today near the ground than even yesterday. Of course, today the yard also looked radically different than it did yesterday due to all the buckthorn removal.

While I was visiting my plants this afternoon, I saw the other Digby in her yard and mentioned the dog poop to her. I had been worried she would say I have no way of knowing whose dog deposited it, but she didn’t do that at all. She apologized profusely, more than once, and said she is starting to think about a fence herself, though so far she is only thinking about the back edge of her lot, which will not do the trick, because her dog is no doubt going through the yard right next to hers. But good that it’s on her mind. I told her I am planning to have my lot surveyed, not just due to the question about the boundary between our yards, and I told her I am also thinking about a fence. She said her mother actually turned up with a fence, but she didn’t like how it looked. So, good: we’re on the right track here. (It turns out that her mother lives in another state, which I confess I was not displeased to hear.)