Memoirous

Changing the Potty: Nature’s Head Toile  *TRIGGER WARNING: graphic content  I realize that some readers may be coming to my blog because of Tiny House content. We are a small (tiny) Tiny House community. Today’s post will be about the Nature’s Head Composting toilet. To be more exact—emptying out the basin that holds the composting material and poo, otherwise referred to as solids. As I was considering my move into the Tiny House, I deliberated between a composting toilet and adding on a small room just as a bathroom, but as time and money got away from me and I really wanted to get moving (sorry for the pun) I chose a waterless composting toilet. Nature’s Head came up in my Google. I liked that they were a made in the USA company AND made in Ohio, my home state. Friends of mine who also had Tiny houses mentioned they used a waterless toilet with a two compartment system. Meaning wets and solids are kept separately. Believe it or not—it is the urine that smells, so ...

We were forewarned—sort of. No one, not even Consumer’s Energy, the Meridian Township streets and san, the befuddled weatherperson. No one could predict how much ice or snow or wintry mix. They used a combination of all three when describing the possibilities. I was off work babysitting. I took Jack out in the morning to a park. My phone said 30 degrees, I paid little attention to the fine print (feels like 20). We were okay for the first 20 minutes, but on the walk home he cried. His little hands were cold. When we got home he crawled over me on the couch looking for pockets of warmth. Poor fella. But, outside I could hear pellets hitting the roof and windows. The ice accumulated on the back decks. The wood was like an ice skating rink. I felt like a tight rope walker seeking balance on a flat surface. My daughter came home from work early. We watched a movie with mugs of hot tea. There was no more going outside. Even before going to bed my boss texted we’d be closed. Whew! I wo...

As I mentioned in my last post, Peter Orner has a shtick. He’ll maybe start with a memory, an anecdote and then weave in family details that then leads to a wider context, perhaps a contemporary perspective. He’ll also tie in a book citation, a detail from something he once read—usually an author that has flown under the radar and deserves to be read or revisited. For example—every time I pass a rock, the kind left behind as glacial debris, moraine, of which there are many such random big rocks here in the Great Lakes region (I grew up in Ohio) I always remember 1) I live in a post-glacial region, we are formed by our environment, remnants left behind litter our past 2) my sister falling and chipping a tooth on our neighbor’s rock on Princewood Avenue in Kettering. I don’t know how old she was? Nine, ten, eleven but this incident followed her. Not only did the initial fall leave her with a jagged tooth (it was a permanent one, something that as a kid I always wondered about?? perma...

I was talking recently to my friend, the MFA writer struggling to complete her thesis—a draft of a novel. She complimented me on my flash (which I haven’t done much of lately). Flash is about looking, seeing things through a writers eyes. When we wear our writer’s hat we understand that EVERYTHING is fodder for the pen. We just need to be looking, alert to what is going on around us. Or not. Lately I want to turn off that hyper sensitivity—especially when the news is bad, when there’s a mass shooting less than 3 miles from my house, when the suspect is at large, when my daughter texts me when I’m in bed to be sure and lock my door. I wanted to stay under the blankets and hibernate. I want to shut out the world and squeeze my life down into a comfort zone of cycling, the baby, reading books. It doesn’t really allow for epic stories, a narrative arc, for something to happen. Peter Orner has written two books of essays, Am I Alone Here and Still No Word From You , that are highly autobio...

I meant to post something about the earthquake that has killed over 35,000 people but I just couldn’t. I meant to post something about the mass shooting at MSU (Michigan State Uni) just down the street, but I was too overwhelmed. My daughter works near there and I have many friends who are on-campus staff and faculty. I’m without words. Yesterday I sat in a chair and read a book. Outside I could hear morning birds just waking up, twittering. The sunshine promised a bit of warmth. The snow has melted off the deck. I await . . . whatever comes next.

Likely by the time my readers (both of you) read this the cold snap will be over, but for now—it is cold cold cold. Thankfully, my tiny house is up to it. Nevertheless, the floor is ceramic tile and retains the cold and there are pockets in the house that are cold. In the morning when I resuscitate my composting toilet by rotating the arm inside the bottom basin to break down tissue, etc, it feels as if I am moving a block of ice, as if I’m in an outhouse. Maybe not that bad. Even a nature lover like me has her limits. The night time sky has been clear and the moon bright—but I’m not likely to stand out there and admire it. I rush from my door to the sliding back door of my daughter’s house. Riding into work has become an exercise in layering. Thick wool socks, boots for the feet, leggings, pants, then over pants for the legs, up top a turtleneck under a shirt under a sweat shirt under a puffy coat under a windproof outer layer. A balaclava, hat, liner gloves and then super thick...

Today you hardly ever see kids outside, let alone walking around by their self. I was maybe 5 years old and coming home from a friend’s house. I might’ve been carrying skates or dragging a sled. It was nearly dinnertime, the sun was sinking and the light on the snow had gone purple. Lights were on in the windows I passed, little squares glowing. I wanted desperately to be inside, warm and cozy. But, I had a ways to walk—today I imagine it being no further than a few blocks. Nevertheless, it seemed far to a kindergartner with snot running down from her nose. I might have contemplated quitting, lying down in a snow bank like some character from Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates or the Little Match Girl in Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tale. Anyway, I knew that wouldn’t work. I might have considered knocking on a stranger’s door, begging admittance, but again that was creepy—who’d want an extra mouth to feed! No, I just needed to keep trudging, one boot in front of the other. And, ...

We haven’t had any snow since the big dump around Christmas (the same storm that buried Buffalo). The weather has reminded me a lot of Eugene, dreary and rainy and temps near freezing. Somewhat static. We’ve now, just as January is almost over, entering a pattern of snow waves. Every day now we are predicted to get a bit of the white stuff. I was nervous, wondering how I was going to get to work. It’s not that far—I could walk, but walking home at night didn’t appeal to me. Grace and I were back and forth about taking the car or dropping me off, which meant bundling up the baby for a 5-minute drive. Finally I decided I’d ride my bike. In a word: beautiful. The world was white. It was globby snow that clung to tree branches and piped the bushes. I was inside a wedding cake. Everything glistened and glowed. On one hand, I was glad I didn’t have far to go, and on the other, I wished it would never end.