Live Near the Ocean

Live near the ocean and inhale the pure salt air that flows over the water, Vancouver will do nicely.

~ Lululemon

Or live near the mountains and breathe in the fresh pure mountain air - I figure it works just as well. Or at least that's what I'm doing right now and it suits me just fine.

It hit me the other day while reading Stolen Time – a true story by Sunny Jacobs (American) in how she was sentenced to die for a crime she didn’t commit. I have the Goldfish Syndrome. Temporary, of course, but none the less – a very serious case of it. Sunny Jacobs had it when her appeal went through and her sentence was changed to life from death row and she found herself completely unaccustomed to the simple notion that she was allowed to go outside of her cell during the daytime hours without any particular reason at all. She no longer needed a guard to gain permission in leaving her cell – she could do so herself. And yet, the simple notion of expanding her space – to be able to stand just outside the door of her cell for five minutes at a time was an incredible feat in itself.

“Five minutes. I look at my watch to check the time. Stepping over the threshold and to the left, I press my back to the wall, sliding down into a squat, oriental-style, with my arms wrapped around myself. I settle in for the five interminable minutes that make my skin crawl and my teeth clench. It feels foetal. It feels like when the first amphibian crawled out of the sea. It reminds me of a goldfish that has lived its life in a small bowl and suddenly finds itself in a larger tank. It will still behave as if it had the original space around it. You get used to having a certain amount of space around you and anything more or less is a cause for discomfort” (Pg. 193, Jacobs).

And so here I am feeling very much the same in a completely different set of circumstances for I am definitely not living my life behind bars for a crime I did not commit and I most definitely have not been trying to adjust to my newfound “freedom” of being on a life sentence rather than death row. Nope – I have merely moved house. And just to clarify, by “move house” I actually mean I moved INTO a house.  It finally happened two weeks ago and I still feel as though I am living in a dream and am going to wake up any second.

Kaikoura - where mountains meet the sea

To go back a bit, the only reason I have the house is because a set of events went into motion a while back that resulted in Stu (Assistant Manager) and Geoff & Julie (Duty Managers) leaving the camp. Long story short and one very large emotional rollercoaster ride, Steve and Lynne have hired on a couple to act as the new Assistant Managers who will take over Geoff & Julie’s old house. Which left Stu’s house up for grabs. Enter me.

For the past month I have been counting down the days. I have been day dreaming about the possibility of being able to move into Stu’s house. I have drawn diagrams of how I would decorate the place. I have written lists of all the things I want to get to fill it. I have thought about what I want to plant in the garden and all the plans I would have to entertain those that came over. But never, in all my wildest dreams, did I actually believe I would get it. A part of me always believed that something would alter the course of events to result in me having to live in Cabin B1 a while longer yet. A part of me figured I would end up having to figure out how to convert a porta-cabin into an adequate accommodation unit for myself instead.

But as it were – nothing happened to alter the course of events and before I knew it (actually – that’s a lie – it seemed as though the day would never come) it was time for me to move in. I wish I could say it was bittersweet, to leave my beloved Cabin B1 behind, but it wasn’t. The morning of moving day I was up at 6:00 a.m. making sure everything was packed, ready to be moved and that my cabin was clean for the next tenant. Nearly 7 months in that box of a home and that was plenty long enough for me. Not to mention that before that it was a year living in a tent and before that was 2 months living in a van. Prior to the van was about 5 months sharing a flat with a guy I barely knew and was about to fall to bits and the only thing before that was a month jumping around hostels and 2 months living in a tent. Needless to say – I feel as though I have only been dreaming of the day I could become a “normal” person in the realm of accommodation – for what feels like forever.

The cat camp pretending it doesn't like being in the house

And that day has arrived. Or it did arrive and it really hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Hence the Goldfish Syndrome. I mean, really – what does one do in a house that includes a massive kitchen, living room with a fireplace, two bedrooms and a bathroom (with a bath)? The living room itself is about four times the size of my former cabin – so large that last night I shut all the internal doors so it felt as though the living room was my only living space and then I spent the night sleeping there. Not that there was anything wrong with that – something quite lovely about falling to sleep in front of a roaring fire.

But really, half my issue is that I literally have no furniture to my name. Moving in consisted of a few boxes of clothing and then “shopping” around all the storage facilities at the camp for any extra furniture lying around. I managed to scrounge enough to make my kitchen and living room look presentable, but with no bed to speak of the second bedroom has taken to being in an indefinite lock-down situation. And that’s just the beginning. Along with my own private outdoor patio overlooking the mountains, there is what Stu used to call the “Man Cave” which is really just an extension of the house that is the exact size of my old cabin. I figure if I ever get too overwhelmed with all the space, I’ll just go and sit in there for a while.

And then there’s the single-car garage for the car I do not possess, but upon doing a bit of searching inside I found a really cool vintage-looking mirror that I’ve brought inside to use for decoration. For where – I haven’t a clue. But at least it’s a start.

Finally, there’s the camp cat – Squeaky. Been with the camp for who knows how long, but the camp has kept Squeaky around to help kill off the mice and detour any other animals from overtaking the property. Stu used to feed it (no one knows if it’s a he or she), but with him gone, the responsibility falls on me. So now I have a house and a cat - though I am not entirely convinced that the cat I am feeding is Squeaky. I might have attracted a brand new mascott in all the changes that have been going on as of late. 

Not to mention that I have also been given a job with a proper title. All of a sudden I am starting to feel as though the pieces of my adult life are falling into place. And I don’t at all feel freaked out about it. Just the space. The endless copious amounts of space – THAT I can safely say I’m slightly freaked out about. I mean, the house has three entrances and I’ve spent the last two weeks simply making a point to change which one I come in or leave out of whenever I can. Just to figure out which one feels best. At this point the jury’s still out, but I have to say it’s sure nice to have the option.

My new home

But over and above the Goldfish Syndrome, I have come to realize that with this amazing opportunity to live in this house, I have been dumped with a heap of responsibility that I have only ever dreamed of but never had to partake in. As soon as the keys were in my hand I became fully aware of the fact that I now had to buy my own toilet paper and dish soap again. The electricity bill would be coming to me every month and I have the continuous expectation upon myself to ensure the place is neat and tidy. For if I don’t do it – who will? And then there’s the garden – of which I am both excited and terrified for. I have never had to take care of a garden before and I have distant memories of killing off a cactus when I was growing up that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This property is so much more than a cactus. It’s mowing the lawns, trimming back bushes and weeding the garden. And that’s just the basic plants. There’s also the option of using the many spare car tires lying around for raised garden beds. But for what? That’s the million dollar question. What do I want to grown in there and how do I do it?

I try not to get too caught up in all the planning and such as I have come to realize that I simply do not have a million dollars to do everything instantaneously. It’s going to take a lot of time to get everything sorted the way I hope to do it and in the meantime there are many walls to wash and weeds to pick. Today I cleaned the gutters and mowed the lawn. At least I can’t complain of boredom in the next upcoming months.

Home sweet home.