SandDune of Zenith
Jul. 7th, 2017 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoNot in a good mood today, for a variety of reasons. Five things make a post! Five things also make a foul humor! So I'm not going to subject you to that. I will say, though, that a couple of days ago, I commented to the Sparrowhawk that as much as I try to be calm and Zen-like, there are times when I imagine just shooting my arm out and grabbing someone by the throat and throttling them. And I feel a lot of satisfaction at this thought, even while I'm chanting to myself, "Go to your happy place! Go to your happy place!" So it was pretty funny when we were watching "North Dallas Forty," and Jo Bob shoots out one arm and grabs Phil Elliott by the throat and throttles him. And I grabbed the Sparrowhawk by the shoulder and yelled, "See? SEE THAT? That's exactly what I'm talkin' about!" Jo Bob is a reprehensible character, and it's good that they eventually force him to let go of poor Phil in the movie. But I still sympathized a lot with Jo Bob at that moment.
Today I spent more time than I really wanted to dealing with A Door. In my parents' old house, there was a door to the attic. It opened out of the dinky room that I shared with my two sisters. On the back of the door, there was a hook, and this served as my closet. I hung all the clothes I owned on the hook, because that was what there was to hang them on. I only had five outfits, anyway--just enough to get me through one complete week of school. I used to beg my parents to let me sleep in the attic, but they wouldn't. It was true that it was too hot in the summer. It was also too cold in the winter, but that didn't bother me, because blankets. Also in "Little House on the Prairie," they used to get up and have to break the ice on the washbasin to wash up in the morning, so I figured it couldn't be any worse than that. However, I still wasn't allowed to live in the attic. The key to the attic door hung on a hook beside The Door, and The Door was kept locked because my sisters were scared that something might come down the attic stairs and get them!
The other significant thing about this door is that when we were all grown up, my parents used it to measure the growth of the grandchildren. Every time one of the kids visited them, they would ceremonially mark the child's height on The Door and note their initials and the date. The Door became a historical artifact, and the kids would go up there and look at it and compare to each other. When my brother and I finished packing up everything from the old house, we both considered taking The Door with us. But we were trying to sell the house at that time, and removing one of the doors didn't seem like a good idea. I think we were just too tired to take on the task of trying to find a replacement. I said goodbye to The Door a long time ago, and I had assumed it was painted over by now.
But NO! Today I got a call from my father's former student who is researching a possible book about him. He had been in town and drove past the old place, and noticed that it was having the bejesus renovated out of it and was all torn up for rebuilding. Being a fellow with plenty of nerve, he got out and talked to the contractor, and got a tour of the project. And behold, he saw THE DOOR, which was still there but which will finally be removed at some point. So he called to tell me this. I don't actually want The Door, but since I knew that Mr. Science would be visiting my mother on Sunday, I thought I might as well let him know it was available. And he texted me back and said he wants it and will pick it up if someone can save it until Sunday. By this time, Mr. Former Student had left the building, so I couldn't get him to do it.
Racking my brains, I called my dear ever-faithful friend Deb, who lives not too far from my old neighborhood, and asked if she could possibly go over to Morton St. and ask the contractor to save The Door for my brother. She could not take it away with her, because it won't fit in her car. She did try--but at that point, the contractor had left the building as well. She's going to have another go at it tomorrow. And in the meantime I was busy texting Former Student and Mr. Science to keep them apprised. Mr. Science says he will go there on Sunday come what may and obtain The Door. Deb says the dumpster isn't full, so chances are The Door will not be going anywhere until it is.
I don't know whether I'm mourning the old house (AGAIN?!) or whether I'm relieved. In truth, I kind of like the idea that it will be reshaped and renewed, with fresh paint, sturdy new walls and big new windows, and lots of space for new people to live there. Poor old house! It needed help for many years. It was battered and dingy. With new light and air moving through it, perhaps its spirits will finally be exorcised, and it will stop haunting us the way it does. But meanwhile, I've just spent ANOTHER afternoon tending to the artifacts of a history that clings to my boot like a pit bull with lockjaw. Down, I say, DOWN! Drop it!! Don't make me go all Jo Bob on you. . . .
Today I spent more time than I really wanted to dealing with A Door. In my parents' old house, there was a door to the attic. It opened out of the dinky room that I shared with my two sisters. On the back of the door, there was a hook, and this served as my closet. I hung all the clothes I owned on the hook, because that was what there was to hang them on. I only had five outfits, anyway--just enough to get me through one complete week of school. I used to beg my parents to let me sleep in the attic, but they wouldn't. It was true that it was too hot in the summer. It was also too cold in the winter, but that didn't bother me, because blankets. Also in "Little House on the Prairie," they used to get up and have to break the ice on the washbasin to wash up in the morning, so I figured it couldn't be any worse than that. However, I still wasn't allowed to live in the attic. The key to the attic door hung on a hook beside The Door, and The Door was kept locked because my sisters were scared that something might come down the attic stairs and get them!
The other significant thing about this door is that when we were all grown up, my parents used it to measure the growth of the grandchildren. Every time one of the kids visited them, they would ceremonially mark the child's height on The Door and note their initials and the date. The Door became a historical artifact, and the kids would go up there and look at it and compare to each other. When my brother and I finished packing up everything from the old house, we both considered taking The Door with us. But we were trying to sell the house at that time, and removing one of the doors didn't seem like a good idea. I think we were just too tired to take on the task of trying to find a replacement. I said goodbye to The Door a long time ago, and I had assumed it was painted over by now.
But NO! Today I got a call from my father's former student who is researching a possible book about him. He had been in town and drove past the old place, and noticed that it was having the bejesus renovated out of it and was all torn up for rebuilding. Being a fellow with plenty of nerve, he got out and talked to the contractor, and got a tour of the project. And behold, he saw THE DOOR, which was still there but which will finally be removed at some point. So he called to tell me this. I don't actually want The Door, but since I knew that Mr. Science would be visiting my mother on Sunday, I thought I might as well let him know it was available. And he texted me back and said he wants it and will pick it up if someone can save it until Sunday. By this time, Mr. Former Student had left the building, so I couldn't get him to do it.
Racking my brains, I called my dear ever-faithful friend Deb, who lives not too far from my old neighborhood, and asked if she could possibly go over to Morton St. and ask the contractor to save The Door for my brother. She could not take it away with her, because it won't fit in her car. She did try--but at that point, the contractor had left the building as well. She's going to have another go at it tomorrow. And in the meantime I was busy texting Former Student and Mr. Science to keep them apprised. Mr. Science says he will go there on Sunday come what may and obtain The Door. Deb says the dumpster isn't full, so chances are The Door will not be going anywhere until it is.
I don't know whether I'm mourning the old house (AGAIN?!) or whether I'm relieved. In truth, I kind of like the idea that it will be reshaped and renewed, with fresh paint, sturdy new walls and big new windows, and lots of space for new people to live there. Poor old house! It needed help for many years. It was battered and dingy. With new light and air moving through it, perhaps its spirits will finally be exorcised, and it will stop haunting us the way it does. But meanwhile, I've just spent ANOTHER afternoon tending to the artifacts of a history that clings to my boot like a pit bull with lockjaw. Down, I say, DOWN! Drop it!! Don't make me go all Jo Bob on you. . . .
no subject
Date: 2017-07-08 03:18 pm (UTC)