Day 2. I have a tummy-egg. I’m still snowed in. I’m just about out of milk. I’m just about out of library books . . . Erg.
Welp. I have made it through every landporn listing within the mileage target-zone, and I’m back to that one, with the garden and the ugly-factor. I was up and down last night, listening to the wind etc, and looking at that house and writing thoughts about this new plan of mine. Looking at the pics, I wrote “this one reminds me of my first house - inside it looked like I had died as Mark stayed there and grew his garden all around it” I made a literary guess about the house in Lewiston: a guy lives alone in that house, and that same throw pillow has been on that same chair for a decade.
I was reading The 5 People You Meet In Heaven last night too – I’m just projecting the likeable widower into the plotline of my landporn, I thought. Stop.
But I couldn’t stop. Imagining.
So at dawn I wrote to the real estate agent to make an appt. to see the house. At 10 this morning she wrote back: The exterior of the home and the mechanics are all updated. However, the interior will need extensive cosmetic work. The owner is a widower and has not done anything to the interior.
[Gordon Downie, If I Had A Hammer]
Seriously. What are the odds??
Welp. I have made it through every landporn listing within the mileage target-zone, and I’m back to that one, with the garden and the ugly-factor. I was up and down last night, listening to the wind etc, and looking at that house and writing thoughts about this new plan of mine. Looking at the pics, I wrote “this one reminds me of my first house - inside it looked like I had died as Mark stayed there and grew his garden all around it” I made a literary guess about the house in Lewiston: a guy lives alone in that house, and that same throw pillow has been on that same chair for a decade.
I was reading The 5 People You Meet In Heaven last night too – I’m just projecting the likeable widower into the plotline of my landporn, I thought. Stop.
But I couldn’t stop. Imagining.
So at dawn I wrote to the real estate agent to make an appt. to see the house. At 10 this morning she wrote back: The exterior of the home and the mechanics are all updated. However, the interior will need extensive cosmetic work. The owner is a widower and has not done anything to the interior.
[Gordon Downie, If I Had A Hammer]
Seriously. What are the odds??
Since I can’t race out there and try to intuit if we’re meant to be together, I’ve moved on to remembering Lewiston. Karate-Man lived there down the street from an Irish pub we’d all go to once in a while. It’s an old town, known (I dimly recall) for its status as a last-stop on the underground railroad. Which is somewhat ironic, given its current demographic make-up. Ok, as soon as I saw those stats, I started to feel like a rat studying its intended-ship via the internet (horns poking out the top of my curls). Check this out. Doesn’t she look like she’d just love me? That face puts the “ew” in phew, but check out the picture tour. Pretty little place.
