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7 & 1/2 Acres |
2003-06-05 - 7:04 a.m. Ahh, finally made it here--it was beginning to get dire--this place has become more and more a place of necessity. So,...now that I'm here what am I going to say. I've had all these practiced scripts formated in my trips to Greensboro or while painting but it ain't relevant right now, not in this moment. I have been having a blast. I feel like I've finally met the friends I've been waiting for. I can see things with these folks, can envision it which is kinda scary, kinda great. (Scarier to write it--fear of the jinx and all but then, it ain't about that and ain't even that kind of fragile cuz, like I said, these are the folks I've been waiting for--the ones I can talk to and joke with and be a frog around or not and we're all still here in the morning and at the end of the day and I'm not desperate to escape). The work has been good. We finally have a shower here and I love it. We put the feet on the cast iron tub and stuck magnets to the tin to pull the curtain back for added elbow room. The plumbing is all exposed and for handles we have shut off valves. I love it. I love how we got there too. How JB's brother is here to help and pitch in. He quit his job to be here and I am thankful. I could see working with him a bunch. Right away, the two of us fell into a rythm and it just flowed. I love it when work goes that way. That's one of my favorite ways to come together with people. And boy, this David, he's such a good fella. France is loving him and I am too but he doesn't need it and this is good. And I gotta say I love, love molu. I mean, I've known her for a few years but now I'm getting to know her in the person and she is so good. I love her, love what she writes and what she does and how she is. She's one to trust. This time here in sweet ole NC is drawing near. As the date book goes, another ten days. I can't see leaving but feel is important. I'm in denial about this, aching for Mr. William already (in ways I haven't ached before). My ache for him isn't romantic, the nostalgia before you leave a place. I can see myself rennovating houses here--there is this especially decrepid one sitting about a 1/2 mile around the corner from us. I can see hay bale walls around the exisiting structure with some kind of adobe finish. I can see a tin roof and working with David and France and having the dogs around and Molu coming home from work. And us being unhurried in our approach, our approach to the house we're working on, our approach to get there in the mornings, our approach to quitting for the day, to all of us hanging out together or doing our own thing. To helping get up hay. Happy with the dogs and the cat/dog who has my awe even though he made crazy noises to keep me up last night. I also see gardens here. Not only for the folks at the place that we rennovate but here at our 7 1/2 acres. I might even see mushrooms growing in the woods on Mr William's place that we walk or bike over to check on occassionally. I see a good living for all of us--we share the wealth. But, I don't see this right away. Right away we gotta go to MD. I think this is crucial. I had strange dreams last night. Wasserboher was there with Ellen and they had colds. It was the premier of something--we had to take seats in an auditorium. It was brightly light but sterile. Seemed like something to do with the state of the world and I didn't like it, was in opposition to it. It was completely irrelevant to the real world, it was this made up fiction with status and power but it was all fake, bogus. Buffy, by the way, is the real world and on a side note, (Dave, France and I were talking) I like that Joss Whedon seems to have an unawareness that all the major characters are white(at least through to season 5 which is all I've seen). If they're black they get killed off rather quickly. If anything, this would be the show's imperfection but that is good. That in all its greatness, there is a shortcoming. Like I like how Bjork didn't get it about Neil Young and Bob Dylan. She thought that these folks were just Phish kinds of musicians and wasn't thinking of them as artists. Its like Bjork made a mistake and I love that somebody like her goofed. Like I love Larry Brown's book of short stories where some of them are just downright bad. There's more good than bad and the result is this thing of goodness, imperfections and all that speaks from a place of honesty and sincerity. I'm kind of on tangents here but I don't really want to quit because everyone is either out of the house or asleep and I'm alone right now with coffee and My Morning Jacket and it is the early morning and I am happy. The tractor rig has pulled over trailerless by the side of the road on the corner and I can hear the diesel purrr. I think they're done logging twenty of the acres at Mr. Wiliam's place. The other day I pulled into the corner coming home and one of the logging rigs cam around for another load--the woman driver smiling as she talked on the phone effortlessly guiding that huge truck one handed around mine and the corner. This made me smile and I liked it. I stood for quite some time last night at the back door watching the lightning bugs flash. When France came in to go to bed she did the same thing. It was really something to see, them bugs flashing and streaking around down by the tobacco barn and bamboo.
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