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A windy night is blowing on Rome
The Masefield poem has always been associated in my mind with November-like March, bare branches swaying in the early spring wind, which is what is happening tonight.
My brother lives in the Last Homely House and I wish I did too. He spent his inheritance renovating the place, so he never got to oh say live in Japan for five years. But now he has the nostalgic wooden floors and wallpaper and sideboards of a mini-Bedford, as he calls it, and quite by chance March sun shining through his side dormer windows which I wouldn't have even if the benighted former owners of my place hadn't taken all the dormers off, because the houses across the street don't line up that way. But whe I come in it smells of crockpot stew and there's always wine and cheese available, and good company and conversation, and how nice that would be if all my life choices had been completely different from what they were and I had been someone else entirely.
My brother lives in the Last Homely House and I wish I did too. He spent his inheritance renovating the place, so he never got to oh say live in Japan for five years. But now he has the nostalgic wooden floors and wallpaper and sideboards of a mini-Bedford, as he calls it, and quite by chance March sun shining through his side dormer windows which I wouldn't have even if the benighted former owners of my place hadn't taken all the dormers off, because the houses across the street don't line up that way. But whe I come in it smells of crockpot stew and there's always wine and cheese available, and good company and conversation, and how nice that would be if all my life choices had been completely different from what they were and I had been someone else entirely.
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It was all of that, but few people understand the 'frightening' part. Thank you for doing so.
But it's nice too when you want to slink away to your quirky home with the books every which way, the lost and found things disappearing in weird nooks and popping up in odd crannies. And every minute of moments passed you tell of poetry, a feeling, a haze and the adventures you've had within your home...
Ah, you have a way with words. I love my house but I think I don't appreciate it as much as you do. And imagine you remembering about the air conditioner (that was twelve years ago at least) and the noises in the walls. The rats of course are and were unforgettable.
Yes, all the people we might have been if... But I don't think you would trade the girl and the boy for world travel and visits to far-flung friends, any more than I would trade the Japan experience for a life spent solely in Toronto. Actually it amazes me that none of my sibs have ever lived outside this province and only my sister indulges in travel for pleasure.
This is also what happens to Zan at 7 in the morning, a half awake haze on her day off. Please excuse me while I slink away in embarassment (and it is too early in the morming and obviously cannot brain enough to spell and actually looks like I'm drunk)
Not at all. Early mornings make you eloquent. Thank you for this lovely post.