Sunday, 14 March 2010
Recently I have been having a series of compelling conversations with a somewhat-mature (okay, older) man about a daydream we both-- quite innocently-- discovered we share. I do not remember which of us brought it up first, but it's gone on some three nights or so now and finally I mentioned the gist of it to my parents.
Of course anyone knows I do not chat about anything inappropriate. It's not that kind of daydream! But I do often indulge people's imaginations, like to say, 'If you could live anywhere, where would you live?' --or 'If you could do any job, what would you do?' --and then, of course, ask why. And that evolves into a sensible, interesting discussion. (It's certainly more respectable than asking, 'If you could touch me anywhere, where would you touch me first?' --right? I mean I really don't need to know THAT kind of daydream from anyone!)
The daydream we discussed was about finding a private tropical island somewhere and then what one's life would be like if he or she had the opportunity to live there. I learned that a woman's fantasy about that is very different from a man's. For one thing, the man dreams of having some shack that requires no maintenance at all, a lazy man's retreat, if you will. Most men would probably like to avoid all forms of work, like home maintenance, personal hygiene, laundry, shaving, and so on. Also, a man would probably like to go fishing all day long, whenever he wants to. And, of course, he dreams of having some beautiful young (female) thing there to share it all with.
As a woman I dream of having some small but beautiful house for which I don't have to do all the work (that's the fantasy part). I don't like fishing and would rather eat fruit, or cultivate an orchard like we had at Lewes, and just pick whatever I want to eat whenever I want to eat it. I think that walking, swimming, and climbing trees along with a mostly-fruit diet would probably keep me strong and slender. I'm pretty sure I would shave at least as much as I do now, and I cannot abide my hair at all once it's been a day or two since a good shampooing. But as far as laundry is concerned I think I would be pretty happy with not having to worry about any of it (beyond what nature makes absolutely necessary for a week or so each month of course).
And just maybe, if he were the right choice, I would like to have a special someone to share it all with.
My friend online actually looked up 'Islands for sale' under Google and discovered a whole web site from some estate agents in Belize advertising about a dozen whole islands as well as parcels on slightly-larger islands. The islands are mostly small-- under 15 acres. Once I saw a few pictures of them I was infatuated and browsed them all till very late one night. I decided upon Harbour Cay. It's five acres and is for sale at $550,000. Honestly.
Harbour Cay has a natural lagoon, sheltered on almost four sides, about 6 or 7 feet deep. The whole island is to the north of the lagoon with only a narrow spit south of it, and the entrance to the west-southwest makes it perfect for sheltering a yacht in a hurricane. The interior is lovely, all soft green grass populated by small trees that have grown back since the last time some dreamer cleared it and left off the project. The advert says it might need filling to be high enough above the tide levels, but if one were to dredge the lagoon to about 8 or 9 feet, to accommodate a decent sailboat, there would be enough from that to fill a building site quite well.
I studied it (for at least an hour into the night) and decided where I would put my house. Now, my house would not be a low-maintenance shack. It would be an elegant little low-maintenance pirate's retreat, the kind of place an 18th-century sea captain would retire to when he gave up his ship to settle down, full of Oriental carpets, tile fireplaces, wooden panelling, mahogany furniture, and all (much like a small version of this house, and simpler). It would be of block, like this house is, with the local sand providing about half the concrete ingredients. It would have a three- or four-storey tower surrounded by lower wings, two bedrooms on the second floor, a ballroom, dining room and small parlour on the first, a semidetached kitchen and pantry, and then at the end of a long cloister bridge, a guest room. The first storey would be about 6 feet off the ground in case of flooding. Across the lagoon there is a knob of land jutting out where I would have another tower, only two storeys, with a guest room on the bottom floor, really just as a kind of landmark or lookout point as though to protect the harbour entrance.
That made me think of protection. Maybe, being a woman, I care more about this than some people might. But I can't imagine the southwestern Caribbean to be profoundly free of crime. I started thinking about black-powder guns mounted on the parapets of the towers, and then thought maybe just a good World War II machine gun. The problem would be in getting actual ammunition. I don't suppose World War II machine-gun bullets are very easy to come by even in Belize. This is why I fall back on my typically 18th-century idea of black powder. I just don't know how or where I would like to store it, since it's very volatile. (Daddy does not keep all of his in the house, only what will fit in the small safety niche he has in the kitchen fireplace stack. That's actually the traditional way of storing it at home.)
And then came the fateful storm on Saturday, when the power went out for five and a half hours, and (by candlelight, appropriately) I looked into Daddy's now-dated catalogue from that place in Ohio where all the Amish shop that's full of appliances that don't use electricity. (We got our kitchen stove there.) And I got to thinking, that my version of the tropical-island house has too many bathrooms and toilets that wouldn't really work. I mean-- where do you get water pressure to flush if the whole island is flat? And why do you need private bathrooms if the whole island is private? Wouldn't just one composting toilet, maybe in the basement, be good enough?
Anyway I did make the mistake of mentioning this idea to my dad, who immediately poured over the whole website and concluded, as I did, that Harbour Cay is the very plum of the whole selection, and for the same reasons I said. We then started drawing plans on his computer using the home-design programme he has (he designed this house with it). We ironed out a lot of the issues I had and came up with more problems and then solved those too. And then, of course, Daddy had to mention it at dinner.
'Five hundred thousand dollars,' he said. 'Empty lots in South Jersey cost more than that.'
Mother only shook her head, smiling. 'They're improved, dear,' she said. 'Where do we get water? --or power?'
'We make it,' he said, 'or we do without.' Then he and I ranted on about our ideas so far. This got Jessy and Lisa and even JJ all enthused about it and we all went on and on and on till someone, I don't remember which of us, realised that this wasn't such a kooky plan but could actually work. I mean-- Daddy has offshore savings accounts, and, as he said, Belize is as good a place as any to invest. It's politically stable, it's actually enjoying a pretty good investment market, it's got a temperate climate, it's mostly improved with power, cable TV, and Internet, it's full of North American necessities like natural gas, gasoline, fresh water supplies and sewage systems, everyone speaks English and the US dollar is taken everywhere. And Harbour Cay is hardly remote, only about five miles offshore and therefore within sight of a mainland boatyard. Theoretically we lived farther offshore than that when we lived at Long Beach Island!
Daddy said it would be cool to fly down and have a look at it. After all, if they know who he is, it's sure that they'll consider him seriously as a potential customer. Lots of retired rock musicians buy properties in the Caribbean. He could probably even get a good deal on it.
Then Mother said, 'Well, you can't blame me if I think it's a little nuts to just pack up and leave for some tropical island on a second's notice like this.'
We all sighed and looked at her. Mother is as much a daydreamer as anyone, but she's also too intelligent to give over all sense, you know. Daddy sighed too. 'I suppose you're right,' he said quietly.
'I mean,' Mother said, not quite looking up yet, 'I've put away all my swimsuits. You'd have to give me about twenty minutes.'
When she looked up we were all staring back at her with our mouths hanging open. I still have shivers in my spine from it.
...
Showing posts with label real estate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label real estate. Show all posts
15 March 2010
31 May 2009
Such is the gentle life.
Whitsunday, 31 May 2009
As we are back in the US again we must become used to American ways all over again, and one of them is the way the church here celebrates Whitsunday as 'Pentecost' and emphasises the colour red. Jessy and I would be unswayed however and with Lisa we all wore white. We each have a new soft cotton dress, and I wore my white sandals. Of course at church half the people teased us-- 'You forgot to wear red!' --none of the poor dears knowing that we really were commemorating the day, only in a different way. There were two baptisms as this is a traditional day for it, but, unusually, one was an adult-- a mother and a the newborn (actually about 2 months old). Then there was the usual reception with tea and doughnuts and all, which Daddy and Mother wanted to stay for since it meant we did not have to go out for pancakes.
At home I rang Dottie at the ice-cream parlour up in New Jersey, because I promised to, just to find out how she was doing. So by the time I was ready to go outside the cloudiness and drizzle had cleared up. I put away the dress and sandals and in my underthings went into Jessy's room, where she was complaining about not being able to go all bare outside. After some comforting I got her to come out with Lisa and me anyway. I went out in my panties too, to not let Jessy feel left out, but she was still a little miffed that my panties were white. Hers could not be-- she of course had worn a slip with her white dress to church.
And little Lisa went bare, such as she is prone to do. She doesn't have these problems!
We did not merely lie out but did a bit of straightening-up round the yard, as the recent rains have cluttered the side yard with sticks from the trees and so on. We rearranged some potted plants round the bottom of the steps from the upper garden and finally dragged our chaises down to the lawn to settle in. The sun was very bright, even intense, which was what we wanted. Jessy and I imposed on Lisa to put the lotion on our backs. She never minds this-- she considers it an honour. Of course I put it all over her too. She giggles when you rub lotion onto her bottom. I always make sure to tickle her because that's sort of called-for when she is only 5 and prone to giggling.
When we moved the chaises down we sort of set them up a little closer to the water. The walled garden is very formal and solid, with plenty of rip and even a spare little beach between the easternmost wall and the water of the Bay. But the yards to either side just sort of roll down in a series of shallow terraces till a fringe of grass is separating the area we maintain from a short dune and then the sand and the water. The fringe of grass is never trimmed and so provides a kind of screen between the fishermen's eyes and where we lie. I have never felt uncomfortable lying there. I am quite sure none of them would ever even think to look for us with binoculars and as I said I don't think they would see us. So last summer we gradually came to make this our usual sunning zone. Because of the wall we are out of sight from the first storey if anyone should happen to come over-- although we'd still have the problem of sneaking back into the house!
I nodded off-- too many late nights online I am sure! --and had a very bizarre dream about these horrible steel frames which rolled on a track and you put scrap metal into them to burn so that they would move together, which was the end. And some terrorist group was using them as an execution device. One prisoner I had become friendly with and I remember reaching out and holding his hand in farewell, saying, 'I love you, brother!' And he said, 'I am safe now.- --meaning he was in God's hands. He knew I would be the last friendly human being he would see on this earth. And I woke up shaking.
Jessy was out of her chaise and wandering down along the fringe of grass. There were boats out-- I wondered how modest she would be, but none of the boats seemed close enough to worry about. As I watched she said down cross-legged in the grass and toyed with a small stick. She was bored. She would rather have been naked. Lisa was long gone by this time-- she never lies long but wanders round the yard too, sometimes doing some questionably modest things herself-- once last summer we found her on the other side of the house exploring the construction site that would become the ballfield... and naked, but for her sneakers which she put on 'to be safe'. I got up and strolled down to where Jessy sat. 'What's wrong?'
She shrugged. I watched her toy with the stick for a bit and then she looked up at me. 'We're not going to be able to do this at the Shore,' she said.
Both of us are intending to work at the ice-cream parlour this summer. We'll be staying in our old house, the little house Daddy built on the beach when he and Mommy were first married. It's cosy, but of course the beach there is very popular with even unsavoury characters and there's no opportunity do do as we do here. I folded my legs under me and sat down. 'I know,' I said. 'But we'll be back often. Dottie's giving us a very lenient schedule.'
'I know....' She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs. 'I didn't think I would love here, and now I do.'
I smiled at her. 'Because of this?'
She shrugged. In that pose it looked very cute. 'Yes.... And the house. And the quiet. And because of Daddy.'
'Daddy?'
'He loves it here,' she said. 'He's busy all the time. He scarcely even works now. And now with the ballfield....'
I knew what she meant. Daddy drives over on the tractor and mows the whole outfield and surrounding yard as well as our own. You would think someone like him would be content to hire someone-- but the only paid people who do our yard are for cleaning the pool and trimming the trees with that tall thing on the arm. He actually enjoys driving round in circles on that tractor, often with little JJ on the 'copilot seat' (which is a seat with a seatbelt he bolted to the fender beside his seat in his lap) or in the trailer with Lisa. We see very few visitors here, being so far away from all our usual acquaintance. And we did not go away for New Year's and scarcely have gone anywhere since. I feel as Jessy does-- that when we are working up in New Jersey this summer I will miss this place terribly. It's become a home in more than a physical sense.
Little Lisa came running-- I mean really running, full tilt-- round the front corner of the house and down the whole yard to where we sat. 'You guys!' she said. And she skidded to a halt and slid in on her side beside us in the grass. 'What are you doing?'
'Talking,' Jessy told her.
'Ha-ha-ha. Is it girl talk?'
I turned at her. 'What if it is? You're a girl.'
'Ha. Yes I am.' And she shrugged, as though unsure of that. But really there isn't much we refuse to talk about in front of her. What she doesn't get doesn't matter. 'So are you going steady with Stephen?'
I smiled at her. So did Jessy. 'That's not exactly what we were talking about, you know. But, for your information, no, I'm not.'
'Ohhh. Did he ask you?'
'No.'
She nodded, understanding that. 'Does he have another girlfriend?'
I laughed. 'No.'
'Then why hasn't he asked you?'
Lisa is adorable when she gets like this. The first reason is because she has about half of Mother's Anglican Australian accent-- she uses words like 'hasn't' well and never seems to say anything that's not well said, meaning articulately pronounced. The other thing is that she's uncommonly persistent. She doesn't actually nag and she never really becomes a nuisance-- if you just tell her you'd rather stop talking about this she will respect that and stop. But she will ask everything that comes into her mind and she asks it because she really does want to know the answer. She is clearly the precocious product of a brilliant and charming mother, a mature and worldly father, and two older sisters who converse with her like an equal. She is the epitome of the 'triple threat' and will be absolutely terrifying to puerile boys (and the men they grow up to be) some day.
(The 'triple threat' is what Mother calls the concept of being good-looking, intelligent, and virtuous, to the point where most men are completely stymied. Invariably they can accept two out of three. It's that third one that drives them nuts. But, as Mother says, it's what all decent and intelligent men really want. It only falls to the men to figure that out, appreciate it for what it is, and then lift themselves out of the gutter to deserve you. Invariably they can do two out of three. It's that third one that they give up on.)
We got up and with Lisa holding each of our hands strolled back along the lawn towards the chaises. When we were halfway there Daddy came round the corner with the tractor and JJ on the 'copilot seat'. Seeing us he hit the horn and raced the tractor towards us. Lisa giggled, let go of our hands, and ran off towards the trees squealing as though she were being chased. Daddy stopped the tractor and then she approached him, warily, standing a few yards away and hooking her fingers in front of herself and twirlling on her heels like she does when she's being bashful. Before we got there Daddy had put JJ down and the two of them ran hand-in-hand up the garden steps to the house.
'What is it?' I called.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Tea. That's all.'
We both nodded. Jessy paced off towards the steps, not saying anything. I stopped beside Daddy in the idling tractor.
'What's with her?' he asked me.
'She's just being pensive,' I said. 'She says she will miss being here this summer.'
'Well, I don't expect you two to be gone all the time.'
'No,' I said, 'I don't expect us to either.'
'I would miss you,' he said.
I smiled at that. The house at the beach is his house-- he can come and go as he likes. What he was saying is that he would prefer to be here, or at Lewes. He has become gentry-- I hid a laugh at the notion of my father the ex-performer taking the peace of his own 'vine and fig tree'. This is his house and the husbandry of it is what he loves best. So-- is that what we have come to? We are gentry? My father has land, tenants in houses, even a tenant farmer and gardener, so that must mean I am a gentleman's daughter. Well-- there might be worse things to be.
...
As we are back in the US again we must become used to American ways all over again, and one of them is the way the church here celebrates Whitsunday as 'Pentecost' and emphasises the colour red. Jessy and I would be unswayed however and with Lisa we all wore white. We each have a new soft cotton dress, and I wore my white sandals. Of course at church half the people teased us-- 'You forgot to wear red!' --none of the poor dears knowing that we really were commemorating the day, only in a different way. There were two baptisms as this is a traditional day for it, but, unusually, one was an adult-- a mother and a the newborn (actually about 2 months old). Then there was the usual reception with tea and doughnuts and all, which Daddy and Mother wanted to stay for since it meant we did not have to go out for pancakes.
At home I rang Dottie at the ice-cream parlour up in New Jersey, because I promised to, just to find out how she was doing. So by the time I was ready to go outside the cloudiness and drizzle had cleared up. I put away the dress and sandals and in my underthings went into Jessy's room, where she was complaining about not being able to go all bare outside. After some comforting I got her to come out with Lisa and me anyway. I went out in my panties too, to not let Jessy feel left out, but she was still a little miffed that my panties were white. Hers could not be-- she of course had worn a slip with her white dress to church.
And little Lisa went bare, such as she is prone to do. She doesn't have these problems!
We did not merely lie out but did a bit of straightening-up round the yard, as the recent rains have cluttered the side yard with sticks from the trees and so on. We rearranged some potted plants round the bottom of the steps from the upper garden and finally dragged our chaises down to the lawn to settle in. The sun was very bright, even intense, which was what we wanted. Jessy and I imposed on Lisa to put the lotion on our backs. She never minds this-- she considers it an honour. Of course I put it all over her too. She giggles when you rub lotion onto her bottom. I always make sure to tickle her because that's sort of called-for when she is only 5 and prone to giggling.
When we moved the chaises down we sort of set them up a little closer to the water. The walled garden is very formal and solid, with plenty of rip and even a spare little beach between the easternmost wall and the water of the Bay. But the yards to either side just sort of roll down in a series of shallow terraces till a fringe of grass is separating the area we maintain from a short dune and then the sand and the water. The fringe of grass is never trimmed and so provides a kind of screen between the fishermen's eyes and where we lie. I have never felt uncomfortable lying there. I am quite sure none of them would ever even think to look for us with binoculars and as I said I don't think they would see us. So last summer we gradually came to make this our usual sunning zone. Because of the wall we are out of sight from the first storey if anyone should happen to come over-- although we'd still have the problem of sneaking back into the house!
I nodded off-- too many late nights online I am sure! --and had a very bizarre dream about these horrible steel frames which rolled on a track and you put scrap metal into them to burn so that they would move together, which was the end. And some terrorist group was using them as an execution device. One prisoner I had become friendly with and I remember reaching out and holding his hand in farewell, saying, 'I love you, brother!' And he said, 'I am safe now.- --meaning he was in God's hands. He knew I would be the last friendly human being he would see on this earth. And I woke up shaking.
Jessy was out of her chaise and wandering down along the fringe of grass. There were boats out-- I wondered how modest she would be, but none of the boats seemed close enough to worry about. As I watched she said down cross-legged in the grass and toyed with a small stick. She was bored. She would rather have been naked. Lisa was long gone by this time-- she never lies long but wanders round the yard too, sometimes doing some questionably modest things herself-- once last summer we found her on the other side of the house exploring the construction site that would become the ballfield... and naked, but for her sneakers which she put on 'to be safe'. I got up and strolled down to where Jessy sat. 'What's wrong?'
She shrugged. I watched her toy with the stick for a bit and then she looked up at me. 'We're not going to be able to do this at the Shore,' she said.
Both of us are intending to work at the ice-cream parlour this summer. We'll be staying in our old house, the little house Daddy built on the beach when he and Mommy were first married. It's cosy, but of course the beach there is very popular with even unsavoury characters and there's no opportunity do do as we do here. I folded my legs under me and sat down. 'I know,' I said. 'But we'll be back often. Dottie's giving us a very lenient schedule.'
'I know....' She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs. 'I didn't think I would love here, and now I do.'
I smiled at her. 'Because of this?'
She shrugged. In that pose it looked very cute. 'Yes.... And the house. And the quiet. And because of Daddy.'
'Daddy?'
'He loves it here,' she said. 'He's busy all the time. He scarcely even works now. And now with the ballfield....'
I knew what she meant. Daddy drives over on the tractor and mows the whole outfield and surrounding yard as well as our own. You would think someone like him would be content to hire someone-- but the only paid people who do our yard are for cleaning the pool and trimming the trees with that tall thing on the arm. He actually enjoys driving round in circles on that tractor, often with little JJ on the 'copilot seat' (which is a seat with a seatbelt he bolted to the fender beside his seat in his lap) or in the trailer with Lisa. We see very few visitors here, being so far away from all our usual acquaintance. And we did not go away for New Year's and scarcely have gone anywhere since. I feel as Jessy does-- that when we are working up in New Jersey this summer I will miss this place terribly. It's become a home in more than a physical sense.
Little Lisa came running-- I mean really running, full tilt-- round the front corner of the house and down the whole yard to where we sat. 'You guys!' she said. And she skidded to a halt and slid in on her side beside us in the grass. 'What are you doing?'
'Talking,' Jessy told her.
'Ha-ha-ha. Is it girl talk?'
I turned at her. 'What if it is? You're a girl.'
'Ha. Yes I am.' And she shrugged, as though unsure of that. But really there isn't much we refuse to talk about in front of her. What she doesn't get doesn't matter. 'So are you going steady with Stephen?'
I smiled at her. So did Jessy. 'That's not exactly what we were talking about, you know. But, for your information, no, I'm not.'
'Ohhh. Did he ask you?'
'No.'
She nodded, understanding that. 'Does he have another girlfriend?'
I laughed. 'No.'
'Then why hasn't he asked you?'
Lisa is adorable when she gets like this. The first reason is because she has about half of Mother's Anglican Australian accent-- she uses words like 'hasn't' well and never seems to say anything that's not well said, meaning articulately pronounced. The other thing is that she's uncommonly persistent. She doesn't actually nag and she never really becomes a nuisance-- if you just tell her you'd rather stop talking about this she will respect that and stop. But she will ask everything that comes into her mind and she asks it because she really does want to know the answer. She is clearly the precocious product of a brilliant and charming mother, a mature and worldly father, and two older sisters who converse with her like an equal. She is the epitome of the 'triple threat' and will be absolutely terrifying to puerile boys (and the men they grow up to be) some day.
(The 'triple threat' is what Mother calls the concept of being good-looking, intelligent, and virtuous, to the point where most men are completely stymied. Invariably they can accept two out of three. It's that third one that drives them nuts. But, as Mother says, it's what all decent and intelligent men really want. It only falls to the men to figure that out, appreciate it for what it is, and then lift themselves out of the gutter to deserve you. Invariably they can do two out of three. It's that third one that they give up on.)
We got up and with Lisa holding each of our hands strolled back along the lawn towards the chaises. When we were halfway there Daddy came round the corner with the tractor and JJ on the 'copilot seat'. Seeing us he hit the horn and raced the tractor towards us. Lisa giggled, let go of our hands, and ran off towards the trees squealing as though she were being chased. Daddy stopped the tractor and then she approached him, warily, standing a few yards away and hooking her fingers in front of herself and twirlling on her heels like she does when she's being bashful. Before we got there Daddy had put JJ down and the two of them ran hand-in-hand up the garden steps to the house.
'What is it?' I called.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Tea. That's all.'
We both nodded. Jessy paced off towards the steps, not saying anything. I stopped beside Daddy in the idling tractor.
'What's with her?' he asked me.
'She's just being pensive,' I said. 'She says she will miss being here this summer.'
'Well, I don't expect you two to be gone all the time.'
'No,' I said, 'I don't expect us to either.'
'I would miss you,' he said.
I smiled at that. The house at the beach is his house-- he can come and go as he likes. What he was saying is that he would prefer to be here, or at Lewes. He has become gentry-- I hid a laugh at the notion of my father the ex-performer taking the peace of his own 'vine and fig tree'. This is his house and the husbandry of it is what he loves best. So-- is that what we have come to? We are gentry? My father has land, tenants in houses, even a tenant farmer and gardener, so that must mean I am a gentleman's daughter. Well-- there might be worse things to be.
...
07 September 2008
The morning after
Sunday 7 September 2008
The day dawned cool and clear with a very gentle breeze, the perfect aftermath of a storm. I would know about the dawn-- I think I was up for it. Even before my shower I wandered up stairs to the tower to look at the wall we had destroyed to get at the leak. The floor and wall are still damp but the caulking Daddy had put in will hold for good. All that remains is to clean up the mess and rebuild the wall.
Outside the water has subsided and the lane is all clear, so Daddy got the minivan out of the garage and we went to Eucharist at St James'. When we got home Daddy asked me to clean up after the leak mess-- which serves me right for asking about it. I got all the windows of the tower opened up and a fan running, but it was still hot and muggy and I ended up getting out of everything but my panties (small surprise there) and crawling round in the syrupy plaster goo with a brush and dustpan and finally a vacuum. By the time I descended I was in need of another shower. And there was still more to be done.
I went outside to find out what everyone else was doing and only happened to glance up at the house. Daddy had got out the long ladder, carried it up to the south roof above his and Mother's room, and was up at the top of it, peering in under the 4th-storey window that had leaked yesterday. I held my breath-- he is usually not one for heights at all, but this is his house which he adores and he'd not going to let a stupid fear keep him from protecting it. Even as I watched him from down on the lawn he poked hard at the leak area and rattling the ladder. Worried, I called up. 'Are you all right?'
He mumbled something that the brisk sea breeze carried away. Then he withdrew another blade from his tool bag and probed under the windowsill again. I knew that mumble-- it was not a time to ask him stupid questions.
Jessy was alone in the garage yard with a bamboo rake, supposedly straightening out the red gravel and smoothing out the sand that will never be all gone. But you know Her Highness isn't much for manual labour and by the time I got to her she was only meandering aimlessly with the rake half dragging behind her and looking up past the kitchen to watch Daddy up on the ladder. She had on the bottom of her flowery red swimsuit, a plain white tanktop, a bandanna tied round her head and her loosely-tied hiking boots. 'Hey,' she said, 'what's up with you?'
I was still undressed as I had been working, with my hair all a sweaty mess and white wet-plaster blotches on my knees and elbows and feet and even the bottom of the black cotton panties. 'Hey,' I said. 'Is this supposed to be work?'
She made a face and leaned jauntily on the rake. 'There's another one of these things in the garage.'
I nodded. 'Right, and I do one thing and then half of your thing as well.'
She shrugged. 'So?'
But I did get out the other rake and, working together as we often do so well, we got most of the garage yard sorted out.
Soon Daddy came down and next we knew he was at the corner of the gate and calling to us. 'I need you guys out here,' he said as he neared. 'With the rakes. Janine, you might as well get little more decent, of course.'
'But she's never decent,' Jessy teased me.
We laughed.
I did go up into the house, putting on only a plain pale-blue shirt which I tied up at the ribs instead of buttoning and my hiking boots that are like Jessy's. Well, it was hot, you know. I found Jessy outside the gate at the unfinished house nearest ours, on the other side of the foundation which will be our chapel, halfheartedly raking sand out of the red gravel driveway. Daddy had directed us to check over all the driveways and rake back the sand and soil, and for the afternoon we progressed down the north side of the lane which had taken the most beating from wind and rain. Before long we were only fifty yards or so from the main road. Cars went by-- I do not think they saw us nor cared what I had on. Daddy drove down with the little tractor and met us at the fourth house, whose damage was nearly nothing. 'This doesn't look too bad now,' he said.
We both leaned on our rakes then. We'd been raking for about two hours. I was totalled. 'It looks better than we do,' I said.
Daddy laughed. 'Well, I didn't bring the trailer, so you can walk back.'
I nodded, blowing hair out of my face, and Jessy and I shouldered up our rakes like returning soldiers and marched back to the house. With some help from Lisa and J.J., Mother had swept the whole back garden, skimmed the pool and now had tea and ladyfingers waiting. She loves this place as much as Daddy does. We sat on the back terrace and toasted ourselves on a busy day. Daddy decided that there was nothing keeping us from going to school in the morning and that Roger had said he'd be down in the morning with the green car. Lisa was ecstatic about that. School is still new to her. Before supper I had a shower and after supper I had a nap. Somehow I'm supposed to have got my reading for American History II and the odd-numbered chapter exercises in Geometry done. Don't these teachers know there was a hurricane?
...
The day dawned cool and clear with a very gentle breeze, the perfect aftermath of a storm. I would know about the dawn-- I think I was up for it. Even before my shower I wandered up stairs to the tower to look at the wall we had destroyed to get at the leak. The floor and wall are still damp but the caulking Daddy had put in will hold for good. All that remains is to clean up the mess and rebuild the wall.
Outside the water has subsided and the lane is all clear, so Daddy got the minivan out of the garage and we went to Eucharist at St James'. When we got home Daddy asked me to clean up after the leak mess-- which serves me right for asking about it. I got all the windows of the tower opened up and a fan running, but it was still hot and muggy and I ended up getting out of everything but my panties (small surprise there) and crawling round in the syrupy plaster goo with a brush and dustpan and finally a vacuum. By the time I descended I was in need of another shower. And there was still more to be done.
I went outside to find out what everyone else was doing and only happened to glance up at the house. Daddy had got out the long ladder, carried it up to the south roof above his and Mother's room, and was up at the top of it, peering in under the 4th-storey window that had leaked yesterday. I held my breath-- he is usually not one for heights at all, but this is his house which he adores and he'd not going to let a stupid fear keep him from protecting it. Even as I watched him from down on the lawn he poked hard at the leak area and rattling the ladder. Worried, I called up. 'Are you all right?'
He mumbled something that the brisk sea breeze carried away. Then he withdrew another blade from his tool bag and probed under the windowsill again. I knew that mumble-- it was not a time to ask him stupid questions.
Jessy was alone in the garage yard with a bamboo rake, supposedly straightening out the red gravel and smoothing out the sand that will never be all gone. But you know Her Highness isn't much for manual labour and by the time I got to her she was only meandering aimlessly with the rake half dragging behind her and looking up past the kitchen to watch Daddy up on the ladder. She had on the bottom of her flowery red swimsuit, a plain white tanktop, a bandanna tied round her head and her loosely-tied hiking boots. 'Hey,' she said, 'what's up with you?'
I was still undressed as I had been working, with my hair all a sweaty mess and white wet-plaster blotches on my knees and elbows and feet and even the bottom of the black cotton panties. 'Hey,' I said. 'Is this supposed to be work?'
She made a face and leaned jauntily on the rake. 'There's another one of these things in the garage.'
I nodded. 'Right, and I do one thing and then half of your thing as well.'
She shrugged. 'So?'
But I did get out the other rake and, working together as we often do so well, we got most of the garage yard sorted out.
Soon Daddy came down and next we knew he was at the corner of the gate and calling to us. 'I need you guys out here,' he said as he neared. 'With the rakes. Janine, you might as well get little more decent, of course.'
'But she's never decent,' Jessy teased me.
We laughed.
I did go up into the house, putting on only a plain pale-blue shirt which I tied up at the ribs instead of buttoning and my hiking boots that are like Jessy's. Well, it was hot, you know. I found Jessy outside the gate at the unfinished house nearest ours, on the other side of the foundation which will be our chapel, halfheartedly raking sand out of the red gravel driveway. Daddy had directed us to check over all the driveways and rake back the sand and soil, and for the afternoon we progressed down the north side of the lane which had taken the most beating from wind and rain. Before long we were only fifty yards or so from the main road. Cars went by-- I do not think they saw us nor cared what I had on. Daddy drove down with the little tractor and met us at the fourth house, whose damage was nearly nothing. 'This doesn't look too bad now,' he said.
We both leaned on our rakes then. We'd been raking for about two hours. I was totalled. 'It looks better than we do,' I said.
Daddy laughed. 'Well, I didn't bring the trailer, so you can walk back.'
I nodded, blowing hair out of my face, and Jessy and I shouldered up our rakes like returning soldiers and marched back to the house. With some help from Lisa and J.J., Mother had swept the whole back garden, skimmed the pool and now had tea and ladyfingers waiting. She loves this place as much as Daddy does. We sat on the back terrace and toasted ourselves on a busy day. Daddy decided that there was nothing keeping us from going to school in the morning and that Roger had said he'd be down in the morning with the green car. Lisa was ecstatic about that. School is still new to her. Before supper I had a shower and after supper I had a nap. Somehow I'm supposed to have got my reading for American History II and the odd-numbered chapter exercises in Geometry done. Don't these teachers know there was a hurricane?
...
31 August 2008
Real estate
Saturday 30 August
The day dawned as though it would rain and Jessy and I were disappointed. Mother made pancakes which we ate in the kitchen, both of us sitting on our personal towels and with linen napkins in our laps. Little J.J. sat up on his booster chair and devoured a whole pancake himself. Lisa usually gets up in a perfectly happy mood and will take on half a day's activities before breakfast. She put on her lavender ballet leotard and tights and played happily in her room for an hour before either Jessy or I even opened our eyes. Then Mother took J.J. with her to take Lisa to her lessons and we two were left alone.
Daddy had gone up to the house in Delaware where he has a certain band recording in the studio. Jessy and I did our laps in the pool together and then, because we had no one to stop us, decided to stroll down the lane. For the hike we each put on shoes, sunglasses and hats. I put on my wide straw hat, just because it would seem outlandish, and the low-heeled sandals, and Jessy had on her Converse mules and a plain cotton fishing hat.
Our house is at the end of a private lane of nine houses, none of them occupied yet, that my dad had built here over the last two years. Recently two of them have got sold, both on the northern side of the lane, but no one is scheduled to move in till their houses are done. Jessy and I walked out the gate to the lane and darted over to the south side, ducking under the shrubbery and emerging in the back yard of the fifth house on that side. From there we had the whole side of the tract to ourselves.
The first three on this side are not large, the smallest sections in the tract. The three houses are all similar, all block and stucco with the same mullioned windows as in our house, raised up on a so-called English basement with a two-car garage on the side. Daddy drew up the preliminary plans for all of them and they are very conventional, with no gimmicks (whirlpool tubs, angled walls) and stupid planning errors (they have doors on the kitchens and separate formal and family areas). He and Mother are big believers in propriety, especially in architecture, and so all nine of these houses are based on old-fashioned lifestyles and sensible, traditional design.
The first three on this side are not large, the smallest sections in the tract. The three houses are all similar, all block and stucco with the same mullioned windows as in our house, raised up on a so-called English basement with a two-car garage on the side. They are very conventional (Daddy drew up the preliminary plans for all of them) with no gimmicks (whirlpool tubs, angled walls) and stupid planning errors (they have doors on the kitchens and separate formal and family areas). After those three we forded the creek and came up on the second one from the road, the one that is like the three smaller ones but turned 90 degrees so that the garage is in front and the section of land is wider at the front. Jessy stepped up to the unlocked back kitchen door and we went inside. It's still dusty from the wallboard work and the floors are covered in cardboard. We through the whole thing from basement to second floor, partly checking on things and mostly dreaming about having one of these places ourselves. This one is my favourite and I like imagining what I would do with it, how I would decorate, what colours I would paint, and so on. It's only three bedrooms but the master bedroom has a cosy dressing area with a door to the back stairs and leading to the big room over the garage.
Out on the street a carpet truck had arrived at the one Daddy has just sold. Both of us wrinkled our noses. As an authentic 18th-century English-style development these houses are all built, like ours, with raw-oak floors. It's actually cheaper and easier to maintain than any other flooring. Apparently the new people are going to carpet the whole thing.
'They'll probably put sheet vinyl stuff over the bathroom tile too,' Jessy said.
We went down stairs and out the kitchen door, dashing round behind the fourth one and into the shrubbery-shrouded yard of the last one. Here the yard is separated from the main road by a stucco wall, but being here naked we are reminded that there is traffic on a public right-of-way barely ten yards away from the inside of the wall. Jessy and I have got used to feeling safe behind these houses, though, and we sat on the folding chairs on the terrace and soaked up the sun till it had passed overhead and abruptly ducked into the clouds again.
'You know it will rain while we're out here,' I said as we got up.
Jessy shrugged and reseated her hat. 'Well? Do we care?'
I giggled. It's not like any clothes will get wet in the drizzle anyway.
We went in through the back door of the fifth house. This one has four bedrooms but two are small because they're in a tower, like Lisa's room in our house and the one above it. There's a roof deck up there too. Jessy and I ascended to the third-storey room of the tower, where we drew up chairs and sat just inside the window, looking way up the road towards the highway. No one ever looks up, or at least we hope not. If this house is not my favourite of the houses, this bedroom might well be my favourite room. It's been painted and the cardboard removed off the floors, and the electricity in the house is all done. It will probably be the next one to be sold, and then I will never have this view again. Someone else will, but I will only have the memory of having seen this road and the surrounding country on this angle from this height.
I often wonder what happens to a view, like that, especially when the house is torn down. I feel sorry for a house that is condemned, because I think about how people once lived in it and where they sat and where they slept. When the house is gone, what happens to the view from the upstairs window? No one will ever again see things from that perspective. The next building will not be as tall, or as wide, or it will be situated differently. If you were to take the GPS coordinates of some spot in that house, it will be true that eleven feet off the ground, at this spot, people once tucked in their sheets and went to bed. But the sensation of having been in that place on the planet, in fact the whole sensation of having lived in the house that was there before, will be gone forever.
I'm not sure it's an important thing to lose, when a house is torn down, but it is true that something is lost. I just wonder if anyone has ever noticed that before.
Jessy and I went down stairs and dashed past the gap between the fourth and third houses, hoping the carpet men didn't happen to look up a the very moment we were ducking past the bushes. The next challenge lay in getting into our own yard, but when we peered out past the corner of the first house we saw that the carpet van was obscured by trees and bushes, so we would be obscured from then. So we only casually walked out and in through our gate. I pressed the button and closed it after ourselves, and then we strolled round the long way, over the little creek and back to the side gate of the garden wall. The sky had got really gloomy, but I dropped the floppy straw hat and sunglasses in the chaise, stepped out of the sandals, and dove into the pool to cool off.
It started raining about five minutes later and didn't let up till well past dark.
...
The day dawned as though it would rain and Jessy and I were disappointed. Mother made pancakes which we ate in the kitchen, both of us sitting on our personal towels and with linen napkins in our laps. Little J.J. sat up on his booster chair and devoured a whole pancake himself. Lisa usually gets up in a perfectly happy mood and will take on half a day's activities before breakfast. She put on her lavender ballet leotard and tights and played happily in her room for an hour before either Jessy or I even opened our eyes. Then Mother took J.J. with her to take Lisa to her lessons and we two were left alone.
Daddy had gone up to the house in Delaware where he has a certain band recording in the studio. Jessy and I did our laps in the pool together and then, because we had no one to stop us, decided to stroll down the lane. For the hike we each put on shoes, sunglasses and hats. I put on my wide straw hat, just because it would seem outlandish, and the low-heeled sandals, and Jessy had on her Converse mules and a plain cotton fishing hat.
Our house is at the end of a private lane of nine houses, none of them occupied yet, that my dad had built here over the last two years. Recently two of them have got sold, both on the northern side of the lane, but no one is scheduled to move in till their houses are done. Jessy and I walked out the gate to the lane and darted over to the south side, ducking under the shrubbery and emerging in the back yard of the fifth house on that side. From there we had the whole side of the tract to ourselves.
The first three on this side are not large, the smallest sections in the tract. The three houses are all similar, all block and stucco with the same mullioned windows as in our house, raised up on a so-called English basement with a two-car garage on the side. Daddy drew up the preliminary plans for all of them and they are very conventional, with no gimmicks (whirlpool tubs, angled walls) and stupid planning errors (they have doors on the kitchens and separate formal and family areas). He and Mother are big believers in propriety, especially in architecture, and so all nine of these houses are based on old-fashioned lifestyles and sensible, traditional design.
The first three on this side are not large, the smallest sections in the tract. The three houses are all similar, all block and stucco with the same mullioned windows as in our house, raised up on a so-called English basement with a two-car garage on the side. They are very conventional (Daddy drew up the preliminary plans for all of them) with no gimmicks (whirlpool tubs, angled walls) and stupid planning errors (they have doors on the kitchens and separate formal and family areas). After those three we forded the creek and came up on the second one from the road, the one that is like the three smaller ones but turned 90 degrees so that the garage is in front and the section of land is wider at the front. Jessy stepped up to the unlocked back kitchen door and we went inside. It's still dusty from the wallboard work and the floors are covered in cardboard. We through the whole thing from basement to second floor, partly checking on things and mostly dreaming about having one of these places ourselves. This one is my favourite and I like imagining what I would do with it, how I would decorate, what colours I would paint, and so on. It's only three bedrooms but the master bedroom has a cosy dressing area with a door to the back stairs and leading to the big room over the garage.
Out on the street a carpet truck had arrived at the one Daddy has just sold. Both of us wrinkled our noses. As an authentic 18th-century English-style development these houses are all built, like ours, with raw-oak floors. It's actually cheaper and easier to maintain than any other flooring. Apparently the new people are going to carpet the whole thing.
'They'll probably put sheet vinyl stuff over the bathroom tile too,' Jessy said.
We went down stairs and out the kitchen door, dashing round behind the fourth one and into the shrubbery-shrouded yard of the last one. Here the yard is separated from the main road by a stucco wall, but being here naked we are reminded that there is traffic on a public right-of-way barely ten yards away from the inside of the wall. Jessy and I have got used to feeling safe behind these houses, though, and we sat on the folding chairs on the terrace and soaked up the sun till it had passed overhead and abruptly ducked into the clouds again.
'You know it will rain while we're out here,' I said as we got up.
Jessy shrugged and reseated her hat. 'Well? Do we care?'
I giggled. It's not like any clothes will get wet in the drizzle anyway.
We went in through the back door of the fifth house. This one has four bedrooms but two are small because they're in a tower, like Lisa's room in our house and the one above it. There's a roof deck up there too. Jessy and I ascended to the third-storey room of the tower, where we drew up chairs and sat just inside the window, looking way up the road towards the highway. No one ever looks up, or at least we hope not. If this house is not my favourite of the houses, this bedroom might well be my favourite room. It's been painted and the cardboard removed off the floors, and the electricity in the house is all done. It will probably be the next one to be sold, and then I will never have this view again. Someone else will, but I will only have the memory of having seen this road and the surrounding country on this angle from this height.
I often wonder what happens to a view, like that, especially when the house is torn down. I feel sorry for a house that is condemned, because I think about how people once lived in it and where they sat and where they slept. When the house is gone, what happens to the view from the upstairs window? No one will ever again see things from that perspective. The next building will not be as tall, or as wide, or it will be situated differently. If you were to take the GPS coordinates of some spot in that house, it will be true that eleven feet off the ground, at this spot, people once tucked in their sheets and went to bed. But the sensation of having been in that place on the planet, in fact the whole sensation of having lived in the house that was there before, will be gone forever.
I'm not sure it's an important thing to lose, when a house is torn down, but it is true that something is lost. I just wonder if anyone has ever noticed that before.
Jessy and I went down stairs and dashed past the gap between the fourth and third houses, hoping the carpet men didn't happen to look up a the very moment we were ducking past the bushes. The next challenge lay in getting into our own yard, but when we peered out past the corner of the first house we saw that the carpet van was obscured by trees and bushes, so we would be obscured from then. So we only casually walked out and in through our gate. I pressed the button and closed it after ourselves, and then we strolled round the long way, over the little creek and back to the side gate of the garden wall. The sky had got really gloomy, but I dropped the floppy straw hat and sunglasses in the chaise, stepped out of the sandals, and dove into the pool to cool off.
It started raining about five minutes later and didn't let up till well past dark.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)