Thursday, November 04, 2004
This morning as I walked out to my supershed to retrieve my bike I saw that the grass was crispy with frost. That makes two seasonal changes since I embarked on the development, and if you look back and survey the bare facts of the open space, the ugly carport, and the overgrown grass -- it's astonishing how little, physically, has happened. And today, in my grimmest, coldest humor, I couldn't help but laugh a little at myself. After all, it's been eight months of paperwork, labor, and phone calls, and here I have no permits, and no loans, and a flagging vision.
I'm tortured with the prospect of Galusha, however cool it is, not selling. Even tho I only have to find that one buyer, how do I? My best idea at the moment is a color brochure with nifty graphics and (I hope) insightful text that puts a frisson into any homebuyer's quest for that perfect place to settle. But now, with the election over, I feel so out of step with America, the market, and the way things seem to be headed.
There was a billboard that went up in Seattle when that city hit a major depression in the 1970s. It showed a bare bulb swinging from a wall, with the words: Will the last person in Seattle please turn out the light. I don't even think it was posed as a question.
As I cycle past Portland's vacant storefronts, or down the bus mall past the addicted and the homeless, it seems not even imagination can save us now. It seems like things will get a whole lot worse before they get better.
I wish I didn't feel so divided, whether I am making good use of all my chutzpah (I can say it right now) and energy and vision, or whether I'm a fool not to heed the omens. I know Wayne Gretzky famously said, "One thing I know for sure is that 100 percent of the shots that you don't take don't go in," but in the current times, he sounds so aggressive, courageous, and even hopeful.
The architect just e-mailed to say the permits are only one signature away. It would be ironic if I finally get them at my most pessimistic time.
I'm tortured with the prospect of Galusha, however cool it is, not selling. Even tho I only have to find that one buyer, how do I? My best idea at the moment is a color brochure with nifty graphics and (I hope) insightful text that puts a frisson into any homebuyer's quest for that perfect place to settle. But now, with the election over, I feel so out of step with America, the market, and the way things seem to be headed.
There was a billboard that went up in Seattle when that city hit a major depression in the 1970s. It showed a bare bulb swinging from a wall, with the words: Will the last person in Seattle please turn out the light. I don't even think it was posed as a question.
As I cycle past Portland's vacant storefronts, or down the bus mall past the addicted and the homeless, it seems not even imagination can save us now. It seems like things will get a whole lot worse before they get better.
I wish I didn't feel so divided, whether I am making good use of all my chutzpah (I can say it right now) and energy and vision, or whether I'm a fool not to heed the omens. I know Wayne Gretzky famously said, "One thing I know for sure is that 100 percent of the shots that you don't take don't go in," but in the current times, he sounds so aggressive, courageous, and even hopeful.
The architect just e-mailed to say the permits are only one signature away. It would be ironic if I finally get them at my most pessimistic time.
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