I have a project I must finish by tomorrow. I so would much rather not have to do it. I have a million ideas of other ways to spend this morning. It would be nice to chill, for instance. I'd like to sit outside and listen vaguely to the lawnmowers in the distance and just grok the greenness that now obscures Mountain Number Two. Mountain Number One can always be seen, and even is known by name, Guardian. Nice, right? When Fred was looking at houses to buy in Woodstock he was holding out for one with a "mountain view." He'd given up, was about to close on something else when he saw this house, which he chose immediately. His presence is stamped all over it. And mine too. It feels like us, this place. I could sell it for probably some very nice money, but for now I'd rather have it, mortgage, warts and all. About 20 years ago I heard a friend mention casually that she was going to sell her house and it shocked me almost as much as if she had said she was going to sell her dog. Not having ever owned a house before, and having spent most of two decades in community, I wasn't yet familiar with selling one house and buying another. I thought you bought and stayed. I think about a faraway time when I won't live here anymore. Maybe it will come, and maybe it won't.
Even though it was fantasy of what the author would rather be doing, I feel I am sitting outside with her, the ease of the day, mowers in the distance, observing Mountains 1 & 2 in the house that is "us" just sharing what is on our minds.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy hearing the story of how the narrator and Fred found the house, and the mountains in the background.
ReplyDeleteI too hear the mowers and see the mountains....sharing the preferred serenity over the necessary project.Am at one with regard to the house.
ReplyDeleteSelling the house like selling the dog...could not a more emotional impact. Would never have understood if I was not in a similar situation...grateful for the writers gift of insight