Sunday, September 15, 2013

Hostess with the Mostest

Jenn came to visit tonight, and brought me some goodies for my birthday. We sat in my living room, the first social occasion I have had here. It's not yet replete, but serviceable. I enjoyed the evening and we drank the gift wine almost up. We she left I walked her out in my jammies.

And my baby Max, bless his little pumpkin head, forgot my birthday. He has one very soon after mine (another Virgo!) and I shall of course feign indifference or old age, but only god knows how much I bless and cherish the day of his birth.

I must be settling in, and feeling more secure. It has really helped to have the young couples move in next door. Subsequently, I met the young people across the street, helped them jumpstart one of their cars. The kid has yet another of those weird large-riveted earring holes, what is that about? I've seen several around here. I guess it would be a good place to hang my car keys so I wouldn't lose them all the time.

All in all, I have come to see this block as accommodating, not the hard-life element I had imagined. There is a pleasant, reassuring mix of people types, a real slice-of-life demographic here. They are nice people, though they carry about them a sense of alacrity, maybe of urgency?

Yes. There is an unexpected sense of urgency here in Edgewood. Certainly not in Dunwoody—most everybody there is pasty with money, time or just plain conceit. It has more to do with a peripheral sense of alert—of creative insistence—an ephemeral will to improve our world. There is a visceral edginess intown, dissipating with every mile outlying, and gone by the time one is OTP.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

A Light in the Darkness

Finally, the basement is "secure"! The new door floods the basement with light. I love light and I think Tommie did too. But she must have craved it while a willing captive of her terror; she may have been a victim of of her own history. I've no knowledge of her inclinations or motivations. I never knew her. But I swear she sacrificed the joy of light to be assured of her safety. After the devastating terror of experiencing gunshots to her body and witnessing her husband murdered, she may have shut out light as the consequence of locking all points of entry. And here I am, enhancing openings wherever possible while still attempting to honor her attentive security.

In the basement there are two sections of wall that are scarred over, former windows blocked up with concrete, where light formerly poured. I don't know why they were covered. Sometimes I think it may be related to some settling that has occurred in that area. Basically, when you enter the master bedroom, you have to walk downhill. The settling has me so perturbed that I enlisted a sales pitch by Ram Jack, who informed me they could actually hydraulically lift this granite block foundation, which I now believe is evidence of an even older home, to level it. Strangely enough, he declined to assure that it would level the floor. I'm still pondering the logic of that!

The crickets have apparently gotten over their trauma of having their Hansel and Gretel forest laid flat as a pancake by my brother Dee in his machismo finest at the dashboard of an earth-mover. It's endearing yet laughable; something men inspire in me a lot. Maybe I was fated to move into the house of a woman whose vow was so real she never took another after he died? Or maybe she was like me, just over it.

Anyway they are abuzz tonight. Arriving home late I wondered if the frogs would ever come. I imagined myself learning to communicate with frogs like a frog-whisperer, and telling some interviewer that one only needs to mechanize one's behavior in order to do so. Yeah I had a few beers, ok.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

The Corridor Kitchen

I got my fridge! It doesn't fit in the narrow kitchen, but I will figure a way. The place is about as wide as the aisle between bookshelves in a library. I understand the wisdom of galley kitchens but this little corridor is ridiculous.

The poison ivy rash has not subsided, and I went camping over the weekend. Oy. What to do. Had to come home early I was itching so bad, and friends were alarmed at the puffy red continents on the map of my body. I assured them I would get a cortisone shot, but on finding the cost was $275 at the doc shop, I said fuck that! That is one tenth the cost of a roof job!

I've jumped in a hole again and I'm not surprised. At 60 it is safe to say i know myself. I believe this will all turn out to the good because this house has an enduring spirit in and of itself, not to mention the spirit of Tommie who endured so much in it. And I believe she loved her house as I will inevitably come to love it as my own.

Every so often I get this really good feeling, sitting at my desk working away, glancing out the window to watch the school bus go by in the afternoon. The light is very nice at that hour, and the Dogwood on the front lawn shimmers its green grace at me. The orange tabby across the street comes by for its daily visit. Apparently the front lawn was its litterbox before me, but I put a stop to that. Now we may never be friends, but he and his twin brother are still pondering the possibility.

When that feeling hits I mention it, well, to the air really. I smile and say it's a great little house, Tommie! and hope her spirit senses my pleasure. I hope she is happy now and was happy on this earth. God forbid she was a raging cranky-ass bitch crone. Not that I have ever gotten that impression from anyone I have ever spoken to who knew her.

I dream dreams of impeccably painted doorways and vaulted ceilings. Of cottage-grade windows with true lites, bright warm rooms and lattice-pattern anything. Cozy corner cupboards stacked with old books and vintage glass on raw muslin or overstuffed chairs on Belgian silk runners. Fresh flowers in a living room full of good friends' laughter and low lights on linen in a bedroom full of good love.