Years ago looking up at her glory…
Dear House,
I assume you are still where I continue to imagine you: floating above the land, watching as inspectors come and go, foundations were poured, and stick by stick the framing appears.
It’s funny, I assume my dad -- and my other beloveds who have left -are everywhere, readily available, pluckable from the ethers when I wish.
You, though… I feel you are exactly where you are meant to be: unmoving, unwavering - hovering, waiting until it’s time for you to reenter your new form.
Did you see all the work yesterday?
I imagine you watching.
Everyone understood the assignment: Save the Mother Tree who holds the land together.
Several strong men nestled worn tires into the hill, pounded dirt into them to make a strong shield against the coming rains. The men will come again in two weeks, but for now, the tree’s roots are safe and the hill will stay far more intact.
It makes me feel so much better that the Mother Tree is finally protected.
I imagine you sighed in relief too.
Mama Tree’s heart burn…
This was also the week that…
I sat on the bench at the end of my bed, holding my head in my hands, breathing steadily and speaking slowly, deliberately into the phone.
I was being interviewed by a consultant that my attorney needed me to speak to for the SCE lawsuit. I was being asked very basic questions about YOU: “How many doors? How big was the garage?”
I hadn’t been asked basic questions like this for many, many months.
I wanted to scream “Asked and answered. A million times.”
I always want to scream to everyone who demands answers to questions like this:“Don’t make me do this again. Don’t make me go back there!”
My current assignment is Future You. My head is necessarily filled with all things Future You.
Since we broke ground in June, I’ve had to imagine you in ways I’ve never stretched my brain before.
I have to imagine living in the Future You. Where will I want to work? How small a bedroom can I bear?
And I’ve had to fight not loving the design — not at all the fault of the amazing architects - the constraints of budget and buildable area.
I didn’t want a two-story house. I loved your one-storiness.
I wanted a mid-century modern. I’m getting a modern with nods to MCM.
The conversation with the lawsuit consultant felt like I was plucked off Earth and thrown down on another planet, my former planet. A planet I left under duress.
He asked me a long list of detailed cost questions: “How much did you spend on landscaping the small yard in front of the house?”
That one question sent me into the abyss of memories of the making of the many incarnations of that one tiny piece of land! How much did I spend on every incarnation? Who the f’ knows?!
Don’t make me go back there. I left under duress.
Last Sunday I spoke to the psychologist hired by the law firm who needed to ask me over an hour’s worth of questions about how the fire has affected my life.
Even a week later, I still feel the excruciating effects of that one conversation. At first it felt good to be heard.
Was it good to be heard? I’m not sure.
It’s what’s between my ears and in my heart that matters.
I believe in being heard. I believe in stories being told. I believe in bearing witness. I believe in learning from each others’ stories.
But at this moment, even that conversation with the most-kind-hearted-psychologist soul adds insult to injury.
Don’t make me go back there. I left under duress.
I also have to chronicle my “fire story” and tally up fire-related expenses – and work even harder and longer on my inventory.
Don’t make me go back there.
Nightmares show me how taxing this is.
But…
This is also the week that I got to step into my “bedroom” for the first time as there was finally just enough framing to give me the feel of it – and feel you. I stood there alone in the quiet for a very long time. Stella lay down under what will be your eastern-facing bedroom window as I looked out and up to where I believe you are.
Until YESTERDAY, I couldn’t really get my head around how my bedroom was going to feel. It looked and felt small in the plans. Due to cost and the amount of buildable space it had to be trimmed.
But, magically, the Mother Tree’s branches gently brush right up against the corner of my bedroom as if to say “I’ve got you.”
And I’ve got her.
You can see her exposed roots here. After the fire, the rain took out the soil protecting some of her roots.
These tires will be covered with beautiful plants eventually. More protection is coming in two weeks. More beauty far down the line.
But, one very happy surprise has evolved when my attention wasn’t on it.
I turned around from taking this photo to see a sight that had been disturbing me since the post-fire rains brought the mudslide that changed the canyon landscape. With recent brush clearing, it now looks like a bucolic dog park. Stella and her boyfriend frolicked in it.
I imagine a long line of tables with lights strung between the trees and a glorious celebration.
Before the fire, I loved celebrations of any kind. I loved making beauty happen.
I loved making YOU beautiful.
I will make you beautiful again.
I hope you are proud. It feels like you are proud.
I can’t wait til we are all ready to come home, Dear House.
P.S. In celebration of saving our tree… Stella under the full moon tonight!
