Welcome to the Hotel Northwestern

This evening, I claim my space back.

Over the last 5 days or so, our house has been invaded by little critters and their parents from various parts of the city and province. As most of you know, I'm anal about my kitchen and bathroom and this morning, I kept nodding in despair at the state of our house. Almost every square inch of counter was occupied by dirty dishes or food containers or paper products in the form of newspaper/magazines and bills. There's piles of laundry to be folded, floors to be swept, washed and debabyfoodified. There are toys littered everywhere. There are guest mattresses to be folded and sheets and towels to be washed.

I'm looking for a cleaning person today.

Don't get me wrong. I love having people over, but in a more controlled fashion with breather periods in between to set the stage up for the next group. Now we're looking at quite a few hours to bring things back to normal again. You wouldn't believe the feeling I have when that's accomplished. I stand back, look at the awe-inspiring scene and an immediate blanket of tranquility is spread over my mind. I can actually sit down at the island, spread a newpaper wide open without it covering 2 or 3 glasses, some half eaten toast, a couple of plastic grocery bags, etc.

Then I can relax.

My problem isn't so much the dirt. It's order I'm concerned with. I can deal with a light blanket of dust throughout the house, but I really like knowing where stuff is, especially my stuff. I'm constantly asking Claudette where this or that is, because she does this 'bag and hide' routine when there's too much clutter around the house. Everything is thrown into a bag and hidden somewhere and it's to be dealt with at a later date. The problem is there are a lot of these hidden treasures and most of the time the thing I need now is in one of them.

I'm at a point where I'm starting to panic because I need to catch up big time on some organising. I've got tools in every corner of the house, piles of cd/dvdroms everywhere, my garage is out of control, things need to be fixed and installed, etc. I just don't want things to get out of control like it did at my in-laws' home in Toronto and like it's starting to happen all over again in Aylmer.

My dad and stepmother were very orderly and clean to the point of ridicule at times, but I did, however, retain some values out of this, and the situation as it is now is driving me nuts.

I know I'm a pack rat, I know I'm always buying or selling stuff, I know I like toys. It's a part of who I am and I'm dealing with my demons about this. Time is what's missing to get me back on track. I would need two solid weeks sans famille to organise and sell and throw things out. That won't happen though, so I'll be picking at it slowly over time until the job gets done...

Well, that's my rant of the day. I will have more pleasant thing to write about in the future, I promise! Until then, I hope you enjoyed your stay at Hotel Northwestern. Y'all come back now, ya hear?!

240 Russell Avenue

A strange way to start a blog indeed.

Why you ask? I had a dream. One of those weird dream where you re-visit a place you were once familiar with, but some of the elements have changed, new people play new parts, furniture isn't in the right spot, layout has changed, etc.

There were good times and bad times at 240 Russell Ave in Ottawa. A lot of where I am right now stems from this house I lived in for five years. It wasn't a rat-infested house like one of my friends (and also past room mate) Stuart so eloquently put it in his blog, but rather a single, lowly home in Sandy Hill which was in need of esthetic attention. However, good karma ran through the corridors of that house.

If it wasn't for 240 Russell, I wouldn't have met my great companion and wife, Claudette. Our courting began at the end of my stay in that house. It was a perfect way to end one adventure and begin another.

During those five years I lived with friends, met new people, had a gamut of interesting room mates, hosted many successful, themed parties (The Chicago Party, The Lime Green Party to name a few), owned and operated my own clown and entertainment business, let my hair grow long, and so on. I moved from room to room until I was in the biggest and best located one and crowned myself 'King of 240' as I had the highest seniority in terms of length of stay. I went through many cars, including two hearses, one or two shit boxes, and a brand new Tercel. I had some great neighbours and some that weren't. I had a couple girlfriends, but nothing good came out of those relationships.

240 Russell was sort of a right of passage for me. So many things happened to me in those five years that it formed my personality to some extent. It even had that effect on some of my room mates.

Every time I'm in Sandy Hill, I always make a point of driving by the old house to see if anything has changed... Nothing much has... There's still a bunch of beat-up cars parked in the driveway (and some on the grass, which was my spot for a while), some crap that would need to be cleared out like old furniture, wood scraps and car parts. The house still needs a good coat of paint and some new windows. If I manage to steal a peek at the interior, well, you can tell that it's still the same kind of people living there, carrying the torch of history, one life at a time.

240 Russell gave me Claudette, who took me away on new and exciting adventures and later gave me my beautiful boy, Sacha. I wouldn't have had all of this if hadn't been for that little, run-down house in Sandy Hill...