Friday, May 20, 2011

My darling, how are you, I wish we could be together sitting on the porch perhaps enjoying a glass of wine, sun emerging after an afternoon of dramatic storms that thundered and rang and clattered through the mountains and across the valley, causing the power to go out at one point, when I happened to be at the supermarket capitulating to a desire to buy flowers since lilacs here truly are done and irises (had I any) have not yet taken their place. Feeling not so much tired as achey. A jumble of impressions and moods. Reading with very great pleasure the memoir I mentioned yesterday; the author feels like a kindred spirit, there are similarities between us, odd ones - sometimes feeling too tired to change for bed & so falling asleep in clothes; love of Wave Hill, ownership of a Wave Hill chair or two (which D built from a plan several years ago); I love Wave Hill so much and felt so inspired by it that I once tried to write a novel loosely based on it as a location - and "Marco" the real-life gardener figured in as a mentor type in my book. Anyway! And now - oh really I have such a bad habit of googling, and sometimes in that "mirror mirror on the wall" way little shocks come up, so now I'm downloading/listening to 1.0's interview on a radio program with regard to his new book, and it's just such a shock to hear his voice after all these years. He and I had a couple of phone calls in more recent years - but still, the sound of his voice. I don't know. It's just sort of set me on a swerve. Just momentary though, my dear, the surprise of it. So funny - I'm the very opposite of someone who might jump on whoever - I can't let go.

Well, I can, actually, and I have, but still. Oh what else? Changing the subject. So back to the gardening memoir, the woman who left the corporate world for a fixer-upper & two untamed acres in the wilds of Columbia County. She is very engaging. And no, I'm not envious. (I've read maybe thirty pages.) She made it work though somehow. Here, on the other hand? I am dreading, on many levels, the prospect of my aunt possibly coming to visit. This place is a train wreck. The lawn hasn't been mowed since last fall - which means that the grass is almost literally waist-high. I don't like to step in it at all now, for fear of picking up ticks. And things in the house are just falling apart, the thing bothering perhaps the most is the tacks of the stair runner carpet coming out, a trip hazard and eyesore that I have to endure or somehow blot out each and every time I come up or down the stairs from the aerie. It just seems as though there is just so much I have to visually blot out here. This is not at all what I had ever envisioned when D & I sank our life savings & investments into this place. You know, at the time, it had seemed that we had made the decision jointly, and that we had similar motivations. I love old vintage things, and beauty, and was willing to try to work towards them - I thought D did too. But it turns out that D has a much greater tolerance for the never-ending process, for things being broken. To be honest, I'm not so sure he's motivated by beauty at all. I don't really mean it as a criticism - it's not an either/or - he's just better about "how things work" rather than "how things look." He and I aren't actually at war these days. He seems to be doing really well in his work, and I'm sensing in him this new confidence as I think maybe he's starting to earn some real (that is, sustainable, making ends meet) money, and he gets repeat calls again & again from "higher end" clients. Which I prefer he work with them much much more, because their grace & taste & good manners (of his clients, a number of whom who possess those qualities) rub off on D in a positive way - I'd rather he have more contact with them. As opposed to incidental yet unavoidable contact he has with rental apartment denizens, often of questionable mental stability.

Anyway, I'm going to let this post fly at the moment, and brace myself and listen to the rest of the interview. Why does the sound of his voice jar me so? Maybe I should think about that more.
Oh, I'm okay, back now, a few minutes later having listened to it - fascinating, well-done - phew!

Birds are whistling now. Mussels for dinner. Wondering where you are. Przyjdę do Ciebie, if you'll have me.

Took this photo this morning, the rapids turbid audible & brown - and that was before the storms and downpours. Wild phlox is in bloom high up on the riverbank.

Also, encountered a small snake on the road this morning, and a much larger one by the river yesterday - both vanished before my returns - neither rattlesnakes, I don't believe, or poisonous vipers, but how would I know?

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