The Tao Of Kwikset

I don’t know about you, but when I receive the keys to a new place I get a little chill down my spine. Today it was concentrated between my shoulder blades (more on that in a bit) but it was there and palpable. Yes my friends, we really, not kidding, got the place. This is a relief on a number of levels: no more rants, no more drama, um…

Okay, the number is two. Sue me.

I think we’ll have a lovely time there since the neighborhood is coming up, the street is a dead end (no through traffic!), the landlord is charming and accommodating and proud of his work (justifiably), and The Soup Kitchen will be officially closed for business. “I’m hanging up my triangle,” says my sister. Sadly, she never had a real triangle. Maybe I should pick one up for her. You know, for old time’s sake.

Once again, I’m housesitting at The 1912 House. I find myself overcome with melancholy thoughts when I visit. When I spend a significant amount of time here, I can’t look at a single corner that I haven’t touched, that I haven’t labored over in some way. When I recall the good and warm feeling I enjoyed during my time here I can’t help but think that the folks who lived here before are pushing me back out to better things. How can a house turn sad all of the sudden? Is it possible for a simple building, a collection of timbers and mortar, to long for the care that it’s been lacking and communicate that need? Maybe yes. I like to think so, especially of this place.

Uh oh. Magical Thinking™ alert. Sorry for that.

As for the new rental house, it’s all that and a bag of chips, but it’s not mine. That’s fine though. I have my own joint to worry about. Refurbished tub, new walls, new floor (this is sounding familiar too! -ed Well sure, it’s all about the family after all. – bob) so that the kiddies can get a bath at the end of the day. You must know, mountain dirt is actually dirtier than sea level dirt. Right?

Your pal,

bob