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The car's care wasn't the cheapest bunch of changes, but Christine had the 100,000 mile service done and, as i have apparently worn out the door solenoid with my fidgety button pressing (lock-unlock-lock-lock-unlock) as i walk to the car we prepaid to have that replaced. Christine will have them do that when it's convenient. No one's told me recently that it's my fault, but i recall how when i would play with other things like turning the dial on the TV (because that's literally how you changed the channel, you darn kids, get offa my lawn) my dad would fuss that i was going to wear it out.
Thus, i feel fairly certain i wore out the door lock on the car.
I'm torn between being pleased she got it fixed and annoyed. I'm fairly certain i would have just adapted to using a key (because it works), and would have agonized over the decision to get it fixed, wondering if it was really worth the money. And then, nigh four times daily, i would be reminded that i was not fixing something.
It's a real tension for me, one i'm not entirely at peace with. On one hand, i recognize the sense of well being that comes from things that just work, the ease they move you through life. The worn and broken surrond me: is it consumerist brainwashing or authentic human reaction to see these things as projections of self? On the other, there is the sense of waste and of other needs and desires. I've so many projects, do i really need to add this to my list of things to fix? I've other acquisitions i want to make, do i really need a new one? And what will happen to this when i throw it out?
Two particular examples come to mind. The first i am actually at ease over. I broke the little ceramic bit off the tea pot lid that would hold the lid in place when pouring soon after receiving the pot. I've not fixed it (even though i think it's in the bits and bobs drawer) and heaven knows i wouldn't replace the pot over this. This irritation is minor, mainly because i think the little bit didn't really hold the lid on that well. I should hold the lid when i'm pouring even if it was repaired. Probably the only irritation is that it is not expensive in time or money to fix -- there just needs to be a time when i'm not using the pot that i think to do it.
The second is the cover for the toilet lid, some acrylic shag thing where it was held on with elastic. Has it ever remained on? Should i mend? Should i get a new one? What is it even needed for? I tend to think of it when i'm in its vicinity and forget later.
It's not that i don't mend things. I darned and patched socks this weekend as well as making a pair. Sometimes mending and extending the life of clothes makes me feel clever and creative, like when i've overdyed stained things. Sometimes i'm pleased not to replace things (the socks would need to be replaced; i'd rather mend than shop for socks).
The question is one of priorities though: would i have a better (amortized) sense of well being if i mended the toilet lid cover than if i crocheted a new thingy from scratch? The immediate sense of pleasure might not be there with the toilet lid, but what about every time i cleaned the bathroom after?
Interesting: i see myself persuading myself to prioritize fixing it, not discarding it (what purpose does it serve?) or replacing it. Both it and the matching rug are six years old and have been attacked by cats, well trafficked, etc. The towels will be nineteen years old at our anniversary. I was really wondering if i should splurge on new things for the bathroom.
--==∞==--
Edward, oddly, is the only cat that crosses my tiny desk. I chose to get a small desk in the theory that there would be less surface area to pile things on. (Forgot i'd have a floor.) Edward, the largest, will try crossing and turning on it, but there's really not that much room for him. He has such a pleasant way of letting me know he's ready for morning walkabout, and he's huggable like a big stuffed animal. His fur is not that fine but it's plush and healthy.
Greycie Loo has discovered my lap and pays a visit for a while in the morning now, demanding petting, throwing herself into the affection, rewarding me with love nips. She settles down for just long enough for me to think she might stay for a while, and then she's off. She seems so much more restless than the other cats.
--==∞==--
I did some more mad crocheting yesterday evening, finding the basketweave pattern to be incredibly rewarding to stitch and incredibly greedy with yarn. I'd hoped to do a scarf sixty stitches wide (about a foot and a half), but i realized that 1.5 oz of the yarn would make just about five inches of the pattern. I'll make a skinny scarf. I bought the yarn to use up the yarn left over from making gloves. I suppose with time i'll accept left over yarn and will realize a ball of yarn just doesn't go very far.
Thus, i feel fairly certain i wore out the door lock on the car.
I'm torn between being pleased she got it fixed and annoyed. I'm fairly certain i would have just adapted to using a key (because it works), and would have agonized over the decision to get it fixed, wondering if it was really worth the money. And then, nigh four times daily, i would be reminded that i was not fixing something.
It's a real tension for me, one i'm not entirely at peace with. On one hand, i recognize the sense of well being that comes from things that just work, the ease they move you through life. The worn and broken surrond me: is it consumerist brainwashing or authentic human reaction to see these things as projections of self? On the other, there is the sense of waste and of other needs and desires. I've so many projects, do i really need to add this to my list of things to fix? I've other acquisitions i want to make, do i really need a new one? And what will happen to this when i throw it out?
Two particular examples come to mind. The first i am actually at ease over. I broke the little ceramic bit off the tea pot lid that would hold the lid in place when pouring soon after receiving the pot. I've not fixed it (even though i think it's in the bits and bobs drawer) and heaven knows i wouldn't replace the pot over this. This irritation is minor, mainly because i think the little bit didn't really hold the lid on that well. I should hold the lid when i'm pouring even if it was repaired. Probably the only irritation is that it is not expensive in time or money to fix -- there just needs to be a time when i'm not using the pot that i think to do it.
The second is the cover for the toilet lid, some acrylic shag thing where it was held on with elastic. Has it ever remained on? Should i mend? Should i get a new one? What is it even needed for? I tend to think of it when i'm in its vicinity and forget later.
It's not that i don't mend things. I darned and patched socks this weekend as well as making a pair. Sometimes mending and extending the life of clothes makes me feel clever and creative, like when i've overdyed stained things. Sometimes i'm pleased not to replace things (the socks would need to be replaced; i'd rather mend than shop for socks).
The question is one of priorities though: would i have a better (amortized) sense of well being if i mended the toilet lid cover than if i crocheted a new thingy from scratch? The immediate sense of pleasure might not be there with the toilet lid, but what about every time i cleaned the bathroom after?
Interesting: i see myself persuading myself to prioritize fixing it, not discarding it (what purpose does it serve?) or replacing it. Both it and the matching rug are six years old and have been attacked by cats, well trafficked, etc. The towels will be nineteen years old at our anniversary. I was really wondering if i should splurge on new things for the bathroom.
--==∞==--
Edward, oddly, is the only cat that crosses my tiny desk. I chose to get a small desk in the theory that there would be less surface area to pile things on. (Forgot i'd have a floor.) Edward, the largest, will try crossing and turning on it, but there's really not that much room for him. He has such a pleasant way of letting me know he's ready for morning walkabout, and he's huggable like a big stuffed animal. His fur is not that fine but it's plush and healthy.
Greycie Loo has discovered my lap and pays a visit for a while in the morning now, demanding petting, throwing herself into the affection, rewarding me with love nips. She settles down for just long enough for me to think she might stay for a while, and then she's off. She seems so much more restless than the other cats.
--==∞==--
I did some more mad crocheting yesterday evening, finding the basketweave pattern to be incredibly rewarding to stitch and incredibly greedy with yarn. I'd hoped to do a scarf sixty stitches wide (about a foot and a half), but i realized that 1.5 oz of the yarn would make just about five inches of the pattern. I'll make a skinny scarf. I bought the yarn to use up the yarn left over from making gloves. I suppose with time i'll accept left over yarn and will realize a ball of yarn just doesn't go very far.
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