Some people think I'm nuts.
(Some people will continue to think so no matter what.)
But some people think I'm nuts for mortgaging myself up to my eyeballs to put a hole in my backyard that will only cost me more money year-round.
Marty's best friend thinks we're nuts to be staying in this house at all.
Sell! he says. Buy a bigger house somewhere else! he says. Get away from the plants! he says.
First of all, I love my house. Marty and I fell in love with this house the first time we saw it, even with the mothball smell and the the heavy drapes in the living room. Dotty Dottie (the previous owner) had very little interior decorating skills, but all we could see was potential. It reminded me of my Grannie's house. And that's why I loved it. It was different. It wasn't prefab. It wasn't perfect (I mean, who puts their stairs in the bedroom???) And that's why I loved it.
But the backyard has always given me fits. Oh, I tried to keep it up. I had a nice garden and roses for a while. Then Lora Leigh came along and I never had the time anymore. Things got away from me. The garage started to fall apart. things got ugly. I never liked to go back there anymore. Every time I tried to sit back there and relax, I couldn't. All I could see was all the work that needed to be done. I had no time. I had no help. I went inside.
And suddenly inside is so crowded.
So many people lost their homes to Hurricane Katrina's flood waters. I lost mine to a different invader. My house was perfect for me and Marty, and then for Lora Leigh. But add in two more grown-ups and it gets a little crowded. It gets VERY crowded. There's a line at the bathroom. There are passing lanes in the kitchen and the hall. And way, way too many voices.
Oh how I long to walk in MY house, in MY living room and hear nothing but MY breath. Pet MY dog. Sit on MY sofa. Turn on MY TV (OK they bought it) and flip channels with MY remote.
Better yet. Oh how I long to turn the damned thing off and sit down at my oh-so-lonely piano and fill the house with a joyful noise. I used to do that every so often when the house was empty, pretend I was a grand pianist giving a grand concert. I used to do it as a child at Grannie's too when her house was empty and I had the silence all to myself. But the house is never empty or silent. It's soap operas Monday through Friday and spaghetti westerns all day Saturday. I go to work to find peace, or to my room.
All around us people are wrestling with their Katrina demons. Some are losing. Some deal, some don't. Some are doing the best they can.
I'm doing the best I can.
And I'm building myself a new room. It just won't have a ceiling or walls. I so want it to be perfect and beautiful and aesthetically pleasing when all is said and done so that when I go to it I can find my peace. I want to see what is done and not what needs to be done.
But even if it isn't, I know that I can close my eyes and find a moment's peace. It is silent underwater. No phones. No voices. No TVs. Hopefully, no demons. Just peace and quiet....
No matter how much it costs me.