Well, it's mine. Complete with one working key and three doors that are missing keys.
The post is called Twilight House because that's what it seems to be. It's situated at the top of a hill in a quiet neighbourhood. The sun rises over the garage and slowly moves across the back of the house, casting the front kitchen and living room into shadows. A lot hasn't been done since it was built in the 1950's, and the most manageable changes, I'm arranging for now. New doors. New windows. And eventually a new bath and kitchen, with some floorspace in the attic being converted into liveable space.
After all, what's the use of having a full-sized weaving loom and stained glass making equipment if one doesn't have work space?
What needs to happen before I can move. Furniture! And dishes, since I literally don't have anything except a couple of baking pans. Giving up coffee means no coffee maker for the time being -- I wonder though since I'm down to about two to three cups per week if I downsize and have one really good cup of coffee... have to ruminate some more about that one. Or take more Prilosec.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
With apologies to Thomas Wolfe
Mr. Wolfe said you can't go home again. Well, here I am. Or at least as close to it as I think I am.
Six months ago, everything was packed up into big white boxes and taken away by three robust young men. Here, on the other side of the pond, the process was repeated in reverse, only things went into a storage unit. Strange to think of my life condensed into such a small space. Even stranger to open these boxes and to have conflicting emotions occuring. Sometimes opening things and seeing old friends. Sometimes opening and thinking... whyever was that important to me? And finally.. oh yes... someday soon, you will be on the mantel again soon, I promise. To quote another luminary.. I feel like the Maureen O'Hara character in A Quiet Man, whose husband couldn't understand why she was deviling him about having her dowry. "I must have my things about me" she says. And I exactly what she means. Who wants to camp when luxury means having a favourite book at hand?
Six months ago, everything was packed up into big white boxes and taken away by three robust young men. Here, on the other side of the pond, the process was repeated in reverse, only things went into a storage unit. Strange to think of my life condensed into such a small space. Even stranger to open these boxes and to have conflicting emotions occuring. Sometimes opening things and seeing old friends. Sometimes opening and thinking... whyever was that important to me? And finally.. oh yes... someday soon, you will be on the mantel again soon, I promise. To quote another luminary.. I feel like the Maureen O'Hara character in A Quiet Man, whose husband couldn't understand why she was deviling him about having her dowry. "I must have my things about me" she says. And I exactly what she means. Who wants to camp when luxury means having a favourite book at hand?
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