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.
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