Tuesday, October 17, 2006
After months of no posts, I'm back to the blog -- for a few reasons:
1. I miss it, the chance to meld the details into cohesive blurbs. 2. I've got my second wind of love going for Mabel, now that the bookbinding studio's in business -- yay! And 3. It's funny (not really), but the house isn't done yet.
Granted the punchlist now is tiny, but the glacial speed at which it is attacked is, well, unperceptible. One might even say nonexistent, but that sounds foreboding.
The joy I get out of the bookbinding studio, though, was unexpected. I went to work in it Friday bright and early, as the sun warmed up the fall day outside. I had the garage and front doors open to the golden light, the rustling of the tall grasses in the courtyard, and the neighbor's KMHD jazz.
It was lovely to work padding around the bamboo floor with all my rolls of bookcloth and paper and scraps of bookboard within arm's reach. How could I have waited so long to get started? I know, I was busy with the parties, the wedding planning, the dishwashing, the sweeping -- all the chores that can absorb so much time while your life unspools wildly, unconsciously, unconscientiously (?).
So there I was, happily cutting board for that conservation project that came in, ahem, last fall and I had the revelation that put the ever-widening grin on my face: This is why I built the house. This is why I put off the bookbinding dream for two years. This is what all the hassle, headaches, and work went to. This is it.
This makes me ecstatic.
Never mind the punchlist that never fades, I've got bookbinding and dreaming to do.
1. I miss it, the chance to meld the details into cohesive blurbs. 2. I've got my second wind of love going for Mabel, now that the bookbinding studio's in business -- yay! And 3. It's funny (not really), but the house isn't done yet.
Granted the punchlist now is tiny, but the glacial speed at which it is attacked is, well, unperceptible. One might even say nonexistent, but that sounds foreboding.
The joy I get out of the bookbinding studio, though, was unexpected. I went to work in it Friday bright and early, as the sun warmed up the fall day outside. I had the garage and front doors open to the golden light, the rustling of the tall grasses in the courtyard, and the neighbor's KMHD jazz.
It was lovely to work padding around the bamboo floor with all my rolls of bookcloth and paper and scraps of bookboard within arm's reach. How could I have waited so long to get started? I know, I was busy with the parties, the wedding planning, the dishwashing, the sweeping -- all the chores that can absorb so much time while your life unspools wildly, unconsciously, unconscientiously (?).
So there I was, happily cutting board for that conservation project that came in, ahem, last fall and I had the revelation that put the ever-widening grin on my face: This is why I built the house. This is why I put off the bookbinding dream for two years. This is what all the hassle, headaches, and work went to. This is it.
This makes me ecstatic.
Never mind the punchlist that never fades, I've got bookbinding and dreaming to do.
Comments:
You know, our house is 100 years and 3 months old, and it's not really what you'd call "finished"....
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