2003-02-02 - 10:30 p.m.
This weekend was exactly the opposite of last weekend. A week ago I was feeling like some kind of hibernating creature, drowsy and slowed by the extreme cold, and also preparing to get through the final grim, bare cupboards week before payday. (Since we get our end of the month paycheck before Christmas in December, it is a long dry spell until the end of January.) But finally, payday happened, and then this unexpected gift: a little whiff of Spring. I know it is too early to even have that thought, but.... the sun was shining, the ground was damp, and there was a light warm breeze without a hint of chill. As I walked down the hill, I saw a little boy bouncing a red ball, people jogging, and working in their yards and washing their cars. And then I spotted a little sign fluttering outside someone's apartment door that said: SPRING.
I always remember, when these days come along, that I wrote my first poem, when I was in the seventh grade, about just such a day. The poem was called "February Spring" and it was awful. But at the time I thought I was dancing with some profound thoughts, pondering the cruelties, the vagueries of nature. I am normally an archivist, but for some reason I never want to remember my bad poems, so I've thrown them away as soon as I know better...
I went over to see my brother's house this weekend. It is almost done. My son was there, doing some of the finish carpentry on it: installing some trim pieces and the lock set in the new front door. And my daughter-in-law was looking at some books with ideas for her kitchen remodelling project. So we all hung out in the big, empty house for a while, just talking and enjoying the feeling of spaciousness and pristine newness. I think all of us kind of wish we could just move in. We have old houses, and have been devoted old house defenders for a long time. But I have to admit that a well-designed new house would be so easy to live in.....
This house is amazing--it has been thoughtfully designed, and carefully built with lots of attention to details. The main room is open and light, with soaring cathedral ceilings and lots of windows, a big fireplace, and a beautiful curved stairway. My favorite thing is probably the bathroom in the master bedroom containing both a slate tiled shower and a huge whirlpool tub with an elegant tall arched window above it. Oh the baths you could take!
Some people have looked, but so far no offers have come in. Now that the house is almost done, the unspoken fear hangs in the air. He says he is trying not to worry about it, but he needs a buyer soon. This is traditionally a slow time for real estate sales in this part of the country and the state of the economy has left everyone more cautious. Mike has devoted almost a year of his life to building this house, and he says it has been a good experience, but it is also too risky for someone who doesn't have a lot of money in reserve. Because soon, every month it goes unsold will be eating into his already slim profits. And we are just trying not to think about what will happen if it doesn't.
I finished the book I was reading (The Little Friend) over Saturday mornings breakfast. It had an odd ending, but that's OK. I still liked it, for all the things it made me think about. I went to the book store and bought two other works of fiction. One of them is The Hours, which I wanted to read because we have seen the movie twice now (I love the movie), and I still have some questions about some of the things the movie suggested. I'm expecting the book to fill in the details. I am still feeling as though a kind of sea change has occurred in my taste in reading. In the book store, I was looking around at all the displays, and realizing how many books are written to address people's needs to problem-solve. I also think they kind of play on people's insecurities.... like how can you justify being imperfect in some important area of your life when here is a book to tell you how to improve?
My mother and I have had a friendly debate, over the years, about our approach to life. Although we are a lot alike and usually agree on philosophical sorts of things, this is one thing where we differ. She believes that life is a series of problems to be solved, and we pursue happiness by seeking to solve them. I believe that life is about finding inspiration and problems will usually work themselves out or go away or find some completely unpredictable resolution. There is no right or wrong to this debate, just a difference in approach. But it occurred to me that I have been living more in agreement with the problem solving approach lately, which is probably why I was finding myself so uninspired, so mired in some desire to control all the details of my life.
"The illusions that exalt us are dearer than a thousand sober truths..."
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