Clearly the two topics go hand-in-hand. Well, okay, they sort of don't. I just REALLY want to vent about the Canada shipment. I want to vent so badly that if tonight I had to choose between venting or letting Dan pick the movie we watch I would choose venting, and then spend the rest of the night watching someone get chainsawed in half or miraculously surviving the most ridiculous and drastic car chase ever filmed.
So, let's VENT!
Oh the Canada shipment. What a blind and trusting fool I was when my mover in Kamloops told me, "Your stuff can reasonably be in Switzerland in one month. That's not a problem."
It was a problem.
Four weeks actually turned into thirteen weeks. THIRTEEN MOFO WEEKS!
I did not pack appropriately to be without the majority of my wardrobe for thirteen mofo weeks. I did not pack enough reading material to be without my books for thirteen mofo weeks.
It was on week seven of my living in Switzerland that my eyes started to get twitchy from the pure stress of not having ANY OF MY STUFF and no one telling me WHERE OUR STUFF WAS. And the fact that when I got in touch with our movers, they referred to my worldly possessions AS STUFF.
And yeah, okay, maybe some of you out there are all enlightened and are having lunch with Buddha and are totally gossiping about what a pathetic mortal I am because I was pining for mere objects when I should really have been worrying about something like world hunger or fashion week.
Get over yourselves. Dan and I were very selective about what we chose to pack. If we could replace it for cheaper at Ikea, it didn't come. If there was no emotional value to the object, it didn't come. (Well, except for that dastardly coffee table. That had emotional value, but it was ugly. It didn't come.) Hence everything that had purpose in our lives was lost somewhere between Kamloops and Switzerland for THIRTEEN MOFO WEEKS.
And you know what Hans, my delightful and communicative international moving middle-man, cited as the reason for the extreme delay?
Specifically, "Sorry about the delay. Global warming affects us all."
What. The. Fuck. does that mean?
I'm confused, Hans. Did the ocean run out of water and the ship became marooned on a sand bar?
Did you load my container onto a sailboat, and then the Earth decided it would cease to produce wind until that hole in the ozone layer was patched up?
Did the slaves that rowed your ship suddenly become unionized and politically active, so they decided to take up their oars for Greenpeace and head north to take pictures of icebergs so future generations would know what 'cold' looked like?
HOW DID GLOBAL WARMING CAUSE SUCH A DELAY IN A SHIP CROSSING AN OCEAN?
Hans had no explanation, because obviously he was lying.
So I fed him to a polar bear so it could feed its cubs, and those cubs could grow up to have babies of their own, thus continuing the polar bear population.
Never say I don't care about the Earth.
But when the shipment came, it was like Christmas. Boxes were opened and I fondly stroked cutlery and measuring cups and whispered quite creepily, "I remember you. Did you miss me?"
And as you have clearly seen, Dan and I have done our utmost to up Ikea stocks by purchasing all missing furniture items from that giant (and cheap! Such reasonable prices, you really don't care what little fingers painted the dresser blue) store.
Haus Week is experiencing budget cuts and issues over pesky labour permits, so I will be the one taking you on a tour today. Not Me, Myself, and I. Just I.
And I will also be showing you two rooms.
The Dining Room
So the dining room isn't super interesting, which is why it doesn't get its own day. Sorry about that dining room, but go to the gym more and take better care of your skin, and then maybe you'll get your own day.
So here is our table. Dan's aunt and uncle have loaned this to us until their son requires use of it when he moves out. Considering he's still in high school, we feel fairly confident that we don't have to rush out tomorrow and get a table.
We are going to put a picture up behind the table, but first we actually need to buy some sort of light fixture to hang over the table. This is what we're currently using:
So trendy! Dan and I literally, *literally*, say every week, 'Next week we'll get a light fixture.' And then we we feel very proud and comfortable knowing that *next* week we will solve this lighting dilemma.
Now the dining room chairs. Those chairs caused a very tense hour in Ikea.
Dan was fighting hard for these ones, while I had another preference in mind. But I was told, quite unceremoniously, that my choice looked like 'something you sit on in a cafeteria'. Well excuse me for not liking the largest chair option that Ikea sold.
There was a showdown in the seating department; I was sitting in my choice, Dan was sitting in his, and we were squared off from each other across a table that was similar to the one waiting for us back home. I am almost positive that there was old Western music playing in the background; the tune that gunslingers hear as they approach their enemy from opposite ends of a dusty street.
"If you get your chair," I hissed, "Then I get--WITH NO OBJECTIONS--to pick a display cabinet for the dishes."
"Fine," Dan hissed back. "That's just fine. But if you pick your display cabinet then I will hear NO cutting down of these chairs, once they are home."
"Fine," I hissed again. "That's just fine. But if I can't cut down these chairs once they're home, you don't get to cut down my display cabinet once it's home."
A tenuous agreement was reached, and then we hopped up and went to the cafeteria and ate Swedish meatballs (and sat on the chairs that I originally liked).
Here is my display cabinet. It is actually supposed to be for a bathroom, for storing towels, but it's red and I liked it, so now it houses dishes.
Specifically my grandma's wedding china. She moved earlier this year, and didn't want it anymore, so she offered it around and I took it. Now I can rest assured knowing that if the queen comes for dinner, I will totally have appropriate dishes she can eat off of. Also, the tea cups are rad patterns.
On the top of the cabinet are two black bird statues I bought earlier this year when I was visiting my cousin. There is also a black and white picture of my sisters and I, and it's the first one I ever developed. The quality is terrible, but I like it anyways. There is a picture of my dad in his red serge on his horse, from the days when he was in the Musical Ride, and a picture of a stone angel that I took inside the Vatican. The technical developing of that picture went much better, but my photography professor told me the subject 'was unoriginal and uninspired'. Pfffftttt was my dignified response.
Now let's visit, the bedroom.
My bed is what I really and truly pined for the most. I have a terribly messed up back, and it's all because a few years ago I was in a wreck with a horse I was riding. I was thrown off, and landed on the ground right on my back. I now know what it means to have the wind knocked out of you. I lay on the ground for quite awhile just trying to get my air back, and then I cautiously considered the fact I might be paralyzed. So all my toes and fingers were wiggled, and then I moved my feet and legs as best I could, and then I rolled onto my side, and heaved myself up and hobbled over to get my horse who was grazing without a care in the world. Then I pathetically draped myself over the saddle for the ride back to the barn.
My bed is the ultimate bed and it was not cheaper to replace here. If I don't sleep on a proper mattress, I am a stiff mess in the morning. This bed is so dreamy, and some nights while I considered it lost and alone somewhere on the ocean, while I slept on our lesser sofa bed, I may have felt a tear or two run down my cheeks.
Of course there are other elements to the bedroom that I like.
The blue dresser is pretty.
Here I have one of our wedding invitations framed. I'll show you that in detail one day. Basically I had an idea, but couldn't execute it, so my talented friend stepped in and brought my idea to life. Also shown is a picture of another Italian stone angel. Even though it looks black and white, it's not a black and white picture: marble gets dirty with modern pollution everybody--this is what happens. There's also a little bowl I use to store my rings and other miscellaneous jewellery pieces.
These are some pictures in my room. The two pictures on either end are cards. The one with the three girls is an invitation I received in the mail years ago to go to some art gallery; I didn't go to the gallery, but the invite was nice. The other picture with the trees is the birthday card my sisters sent me this year; it's actually a picture of the sandstone bluffs near where my Bup and Nan live. I cried when I opened it. It made me homesick. The picture in the middle is me, when I was about three. My parents had a friend who was a painter, and he needed to practice the technical aspects of painting children's faces, so my parents got a free portrait of me. It's hung in every bedroom I've ever slept in. But when I was kid I used to get creeped out by it because I thought it was watching me.
More jewellery storage.
That's my sister on the day she was moving to Vancouver; my teddy Roosevelt (whom I've had since I was five--his nose used to be leather until our puppy chewed it off); a tea cup from my Nan, that she made into a candle.
Beside reading; candles; wooden box.
You may have noticed that Cosmo is in every picture, of every room, that I have shown you. That's because he follows me around all. day. long. If I'm in a room, Cosmo is in a room. If I leave a room, Cosmo leaves a room. He's my shadow.
I love him.
Which is a good thing too, because you wouldn't believe how much puking he's done today. And not just on the wooden floors.
This is a sheepskin rug. Dan and I each have one on our side of the bed. This morning, Cosmo regurgitated his breakfast all over Dan's rug. It has been cleaned, but I don't know if it will ever be the same again.
Here's Poppy. She's not my shadow, but she's around.
I love her.
This is Dan's bedside table. It's served many uses in its years with us: hall table, bathroom storage cabinet, and now bedside table. And as you can see, it's not just a bedside table, it also pulls out to be an ironing board.
That we never use.
We don't iron.
Or own an iron.
So I was at Dan's aunt and uncle's place a few weeks ago, and she was laughing about how she had to teach Dan to iron his work shirts. And she told me that I would have to iron his shirts for him.
She was laughing away, and then I started laughing away. I told her that the dry cleaner does a pretty good job of keeping his work shirts pressed, and I have no use for an iron; if I want to buy an article of clothing that looks like it needs to be ironed--I put it back on the shelf.
Oh hahahaha. How we were both laughing away.
Then she stopped laughing when she realized I was serious.
And then I stopped laughing when I realized SHE was serious.
And then we just stared at each other for awhile.
Well, I think this blog post has been long enough.