Saturday, November 15, 2003

 
This is the first day in a week that I will be at home for dinner, working in my garden closing it up for the winter, and not surrounded by people needing drawings of some piece of scenery or other, in endless production meetings or dealing with theater companies wanting to rent furniture and props from our stock. I was still awake at my usual 6AM--my body just doesn't adjust to my rare free days and let me sleep in. But to be alone with my cat, my little plot of land and some rare solitude will be very heaven.

The wind storm, a huge one to judge from the TV radar and satellite shots, is gone leaving behind a lot of downed trees, spotty power outages and a disastrous mill fire that spread to destroy a neighborhood in Rhode Island. I know I shouldn't be attached to "things" but I have lived in this house for thirty one years and raised my daughters here. I have entertained lovers here during long, sexy, lazy afternoons when we were both supposed to be doing other things but wanted only to work out our desire for each other. I've worked my way through it, modernizing and redecorating it for so long that if I were to come home some day to find it burned and gone I would feel like a part of me had been destroyed. The only thing that will get me out of it will be when I retire and move up to join my partner at his place. That is how much I love the man and am invested in our mutual happiness: when the time comes to go, I will be able to leave the embrace of this wonderfully honest old New England house for his embrace that makes me forget everything but him.

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