We have internet again! I am posting stuff I wrote when I was bored, sitting in the empty new house.
We are in the new house. I won’t say ours because it’s a rental. Moving is such dirty, dusty work. The thought of all the houses will we clean, and move out of and then clean, and move into stretches away in a long, fading line in my head.
There’s the sound of traffic constantly in the background, some highway is hidden by the belt of trees that slope down behind our house. I can’t see any hint of it, but its presence is always felt.
The pool is dirty, but this morning the water is a murky blue, instead of the stagnant, vibrant green it had been yesterday. The dogs whine at the door to be let in, but they can’t be, since the first thing they did was to fall, accidentally, into the pool while trying to take a drink out of it. The look on their faces was adorable.
Keith went for breakfast, it’s only seven forty five, but I’m nervous that the people we’re expecting today will arrive before he gets back. He’s the point person, I’m the dreamy waif attached and floating somewhere behind him, forgetting stuff.
The house faces south, the east is where the back bedrooms are and our bedroom faces the pool, with two French doors that open up to it. The afternoon sun shines in strong through the large, square and opaque window set over the soaker tub.
This house is strangely laid out, with what appears to be two dining rooms. I’m beginning to think that one may be the den. Though why “the den” is adjacent and completely open to the living room is beyond me. With a man as loud as Keith, if he’s partying in the living room, the den will become just an extension of his atmosphere.
I’m thinking of turning it into a den anyway, since most of the time he’ll be away at work when I’m working, so it will be a quiet place in the day. And it gets a lot of sun.
Keith thinks the realtor, who will be stopping by today to do a walk through of the house, has overcharged us by one hundred and fifty dollars on the prorated rent for this month. I dread that exchange. I always hate making a fuss, I don’t mind paying more, eating the wrong thing, or being last in line if it means peace and quiet.
Not so, Keith. Keith will do battle at any time, anywhere and heaven help the person who is wrong when he is right. He isn’t a sore loser though. If he’s wrong, he’s wrong and he shakes hands and moves on. Also, if he’s right, and the wrong he was right about is made right, then all is immediately right with him, though he’ll always be double checking that person’s work or figures. But he won’t continue carrying on about it.
If, however, his position is questioned, but he cannot be convinced of the error of his ways, and the other person is equally entrenched in their position, then heaven help us all, for the crap will surely hit the fan and be spread far and wide.
Still, though, moving does serve to remind a person that they are alive, a vibrant, living person who is at motion in the world, moving through it, absorbing experiences and evolving. I feel my own stage in life more clearly.
I think we will be happy here, despite the exorbitant rent. Keith must have his surroundings right; if they are not, he will never be happy. That is not him being a prima dona, it is just his nature. He can’t help himself.
He can endure extended periods of misery, such as a deployment, but that’s only because it is a deployment and not his home. Poor conditions are intolerable in his home, where he goes to relax and recharge and where he is vulnerable.
Hence we have this home. It’s a sunny home, a large home, with a slightly dark kitchen set between the den and the dining room, with dark stained, glossy wood floors and a very large, windowless laundry room. And the pool, of course.
In the summer, I will be able to get out of bed, slip into my still slightly damp bathing suit, and open the French doors as if I am a princess. I will step down into the warm waters, the chlorinated waters, and swim the four or five yards of its length. In the early morning light, the water will ripple calmly, the shadows of trees will tremble over the roughened concrete and the rumble of the traffic will keep me quiet company.