new things
Firstly, I've finally 'moved in' to my new home.
I like it. There's a lot more room, and a walled in garden for the dogs. I've putzed around out there, moving stones and reinforcing walls. I had some nice men come and take out trees. I bought patio chairs and I sit at them in the evening, drinking mineral water and almost in tears with gratitude as I watch the sunset from the safety and quiet of my own little yard. Several years ago times were really tough and I can't forget how close it all was to catastrophe. This is a blessing and you'd think I'd be throwing parties, painting, decorating, throwing out old crap and generally celebrating owning my first home.
But mostly I've shoved the carefully packed boxes into closets, hunkered down in a chair in the corner of my nearly empty living room and entered a state of shock.
I realize that I don't do well with change. This is a surprising realization because I imagined myself to still be the wild 19 year old rebel who moved 11 times in one year, dragging 5 boxes of books, an old samsonite suitcase and a skinny yellow cat with me all over Los Angeles. But age and the various horrible events that life throws at one have made me nervous and careful and hermit-like. If I didn't have a job I'd probably wander the house in an old stained robe, hair tangled and held haphazardly up with some pins; spotty glasses crooked on my nose and no make up... A female version of Howard Hughes in his dotage.
And then (worse!) I stumbled across the works of Alan Hollinghurst and that was my excuse for not attending to anything. I'm on the fourth book now.
I've got my desk in a room which will be a library/office. Such a luxury! I have an office that doesn't have to do duty as a guest room, or even as a storage room for all of my daughter's memorabilia. But I can't work in there. I go in, sit down. Set my laptop up and look out the window and its just not right. it's not the window I look out of when I'm working. The palm tree with the family of rats is gone and there is this weird, foreign stucco wall. Ugly little succulent ground cover. A worrying stain of water near the front mat, coming from the house???
I get up from the desk and come back to my chair in the corner of the living room. So far this is the only place I feel comfortable. I've got a bunch of books on the boil, but I can't work on them. I hate this. It feels awful.
And then there are so many wonderful books to read, and a walled garden to sit in while reading them...
I like it. There's a lot more room, and a walled in garden for the dogs. I've putzed around out there, moving stones and reinforcing walls. I had some nice men come and take out trees. I bought patio chairs and I sit at them in the evening, drinking mineral water and almost in tears with gratitude as I watch the sunset from the safety and quiet of my own little yard. Several years ago times were really tough and I can't forget how close it all was to catastrophe. This is a blessing and you'd think I'd be throwing parties, painting, decorating, throwing out old crap and generally celebrating owning my first home.
But mostly I've shoved the carefully packed boxes into closets, hunkered down in a chair in the corner of my nearly empty living room and entered a state of shock.
I realize that I don't do well with change. This is a surprising realization because I imagined myself to still be the wild 19 year old rebel who moved 11 times in one year, dragging 5 boxes of books, an old samsonite suitcase and a skinny yellow cat with me all over Los Angeles. But age and the various horrible events that life throws at one have made me nervous and careful and hermit-like. If I didn't have a job I'd probably wander the house in an old stained robe, hair tangled and held haphazardly up with some pins; spotty glasses crooked on my nose and no make up... A female version of Howard Hughes in his dotage.
And then (worse!) I stumbled across the works of Alan Hollinghurst and that was my excuse for not attending to anything. I'm on the fourth book now.
I've got my desk in a room which will be a library/office. Such a luxury! I have an office that doesn't have to do duty as a guest room, or even as a storage room for all of my daughter's memorabilia. But I can't work in there. I go in, sit down. Set my laptop up and look out the window and its just not right. it's not the window I look out of when I'm working. The palm tree with the family of rats is gone and there is this weird, foreign stucco wall. Ugly little succulent ground cover. A worrying stain of water near the front mat, coming from the house???
I get up from the desk and come back to my chair in the corner of the living room. So far this is the only place I feel comfortable. I've got a bunch of books on the boil, but I can't work on them. I hate this. It feels awful.
And then there are so many wonderful books to read, and a walled garden to sit in while reading them...
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