Friday, August 11, 2000

 

2:34 a.m. There will never be a day, of course, in which I do everything I should do, and perfectly. Such a day will never exist. Today was not such a day -- many things were neglected -- but I did get some things done.

I am very, very glad that I have a small urban yard to take care of, rather than a huge swath of acreage. Today I took a long break from the computer and cleaned up the back 40 (inches) and I feel very accomplished about it, at least when I try not to look at all the work I left undone on the computer.

The back "yard" of our property is fully paved over and it is a place to park cars. In addition, there are garbage cans, the paint can collection, and a few odds and ends that would be stashed in a garage if we had a garage. All around the perimeter of this space, there are vines. There are four little squares of dirt at the edge as well, and two of those squares have trees in them.

There's always a lot of things to clean up back there, basically because the wind blows, and I had a good chance today since both cars were out of the driveway for the better part of the day. Wind-borne stuff from the street flies over the fence; lots of crunchy leaves drop from the two little trees, and so I swept everything up and basically expended a certain amount of energy and got nice and sweaty and dirty.

The whole time I was sweeping and bending, I kept experiencing flashbacks to the city houses I've lived in as a kid. The sound of broom on concrete, maybe. Or the shouts of strangers in the hot sun. I used to feel trapped and punished when I had to clean up outside, oh woe is me. The other kids were allowed to play and I had to work. Now, I do it because I want to, and compared to the things I'm neglecting on the inside -- this quiet sweeping *is* play.

I've come full circle, and it's only been a blip in time.

I still have many flattened boxes stacked neatly from when we moved in. They are somewhat hard to get rid of because you can't just put them out in the garbage. They have to be broken apart and stuffed in a big blue garbage can and you can really hurt yourself when you try to grab and slice and rip them up. But it's probably time to get rid of them.

For once, we're not having wonderlust right about now. I still look in the paper each week to see if something interesting has turned up -- you know. Just to keep in touch with the city and stuff. Probably by the time I rip up the very last box ... or arrange the final obscure closet ... or write the check for the three-year insurance policy ... that's when I'll see it.

The (next) house of my dreams. The (next) most perfect place to live. The setting for all things happy and successful. A house where there's no overeating or oversleeping. A house where no bad mail ever comes through the slot. Nothing disappointing ever happens ... and every day is sunny and every window is washed.

That was this house only two summers ago. Other people lived here and we would drive by and slow down and wonder and wait. Now I'm on the inside of the big electric gate, sweeping. Pausing and looking out.