“Every word on your blog is not a word in your book,” says Sherman Alexie (Writer’s Digest, Sept 2010, p. 36). That could be why I have ignored my blog for so long--those who are my Facebook friends know that I took an online creative writing class over the summer. Due in large part to the encouragement of my instructor, I honestly can say I have a work in progress--my book. Written in third person limited, which is really hard to stick with, the protagonist is a middle aged college professor at the turn of the twentieth century whose checkered past collides with his genteel and stable present. This character and those who move in his orbit have been in my mind for at least ten years and have been the subject of many a musing on long car trips. I decided to use some of the characters for projects in my class. The tales got such rave receptions that I was compelled to share the story of my protagonist and by default, the stories of those important to him as seen through his eyes. One character's story has gotten incredibly meaty and I may spin her off into her own book.
Some days, though, I don’t want to tell the story of my protagonist. I want to tell my own story, the writing of the novel of my life. In that work, I wish to answer questions such as where I am going to live? How will I get there, and when? My book is important, but its success is predicated on how the rest of my life and its distractions play out.
In my last post, I said when I assumed that Taciturn wanted to move as well, I was wrong. I took his ennui, his reluctance to get involved with life outside of our house as a sign he was no longer happy where we lived either. When he told me he did not want to live in Vermont, he mentioned that when he realized that I needed to move, he started weaning himself away from the things he enjoyed doing in the Black Hills so he would not miss them so much. He did not tell me what he was doing, and I missed the signs totally. Looking back, we either talked past each other about moving, assumed many things, or didn’t talk at all.
Now we are in the same situation we were in while in South Dakota, although now he is the one who needs to move. Since our SD house did not sell, he would like to go back. But, he had put it on the market to rent, and when it did not rent right away, assumed it would never rent and started making arrangements to move back into it. Imagine his surprise when someone did sign a year long lease! He was so certain it would not rent out that he did not take it off of the market.
Having someone move into the South Dakota house is a blessing in that it gives us time to think through and talk about what to do. He knows I refuse to live full time in South Dakota. We know many people who own two homes. We’ve spoken off and on for years about living in St. Louis, a city to which we both have deep individual ties as well as ties as a couple. That may be the answer to our dilemma--keep the rural South Dakota house and live there part time, and buy a small city house in St. Louis for the rest of the time.
If we do want to buy a city house in St. Louis, then we have to get the house we just purchased into shape to sell. Two painters have come out to estimate the job (though haven't gotten back with numbers), and I plan to call another. Also, real estate moves slowly here. In order to turn it over quickly, we will have to underprice it and just accept that we will take a very expensive bath.
With all of this stress on my mind, it is difficult enough to stay present in my own life, let alone live another person’s as I write. To go back to Sherman Alexie, if I had tried to write words in my book, I think I would not have written a single word today. Please keep us in your prayers and good thoughts as we work toward a decision that both of us can accept.
Showing posts with label South Dakota. Show all posts
Showing posts with label South Dakota. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Vermont Adventure, So Far
(Written two days ago. It is pouring rain at present.)
The sun just peeked out from behind the clouds to shine on the mountain for the first time in days. The weatherman last night announced that this was the 4th wettest October on record in the Champlain Valley, the region of Vermont in which I live. Only Son’s daughter was here on a long awaited visit last week; it rained every other day while she was here. But to look out of the window onto the valley and see the layers of cloud cover over the lake and the lower areas was, and is, magnificent. Even Granddaughter was struck by the loveliness.
Yet as I type this, peering on occasion through the window to see faded autumnal colors against a brilliant blue sky, I know that I won’t see many of these Vermont Octobers.
Taciturn has decided that although he likes Vermont, it is as a place to vacation and not as a place to live. He doesn’t feel as if it is home--his home. We have been here all of eight entire months and have not yet completed unpacking. But his decision is made.
Several unfortunate things have happened that I’m sure influenced his decision. One was the house we bought. We were had, no way around it. Structurally it is more sound than not. But we realized after closing that there was a reason the art work all remained on the wall until the last minute, etc. The furniture and the art were arranged to hide a multitude of cosmetic sins such as large carpet stains, holes in walls, things like that. We paid major money for a secret fixer upper. Of course we purchased the house from a real estate lawyer, so no point in attempting to recoup anything.
Soon we realized that many of the windows did not close. The inspector told us some of the windows would need to be replaced, but after we moved in it was obvious most of them needed to be replaced. Kissed one full week and many, many thousands of dollars good bye.
The summer this year was extraordinarily hot. Living in northern New England, we did not think we would need an air conditioned house. Most houses aren’t air conditioned anyway. Taciturn is very susceptible to heat and suffered enormously. We inherited a room sized portable a/c unit, but it didn’t do the job. We purchased another, larger unit but needed to install a vent hole in the wall; we hired a fellow who had worked for the previous owner to do that for us. He agreed to the job--but never came to do the work. Meanwhile, at my new parish, I met a construction worker. He ended up doing the job after a few weeks of suffering while we waited for the first fellow.
Other things happened, but the biggest reason Taciturn decided that Vermont was not meant to be his home was that the house in South Dakota, the big house with all new appliances and newly painted walls that he always loved, did not sell. Taciturn, while not a religious man, began to consider maybe God did not mean for it to sell so again it could be his home. He said nothing to me about this gnawing inside of him.
As Taciturn mused, I threw myself into creating a life. I joined a health club and took up spinning. Saturday mornings I walked into town and bought a weeks’ worth of veggies at the farmers’ market. I had coffee with friends. Writers’ workshops were easy to attend as so many were close. Many Episcopal churches are in the area and I visited until I found a lovely small parish in which the people love each other as a real family. I even was invited to write an essay describing the role of the local alternative newspaper in our decision to move. Imagine my amazement when my essay was published on its own page!
Yet it seemed the more I threw myself into this new life, the more my husband backed away. The day after I submitted the essay to the alternative newspaper, he announced the epiphany that Vermont never could be his home. I had noticed that he did not seem to engage in life here, but he did not engage in life in South Dakota, either. There I was out of the house and busy all of the time but wanted to move away. He said he wanted to be there but seldom left the house. While still in South Dakota, I took that ennui to mean he really wanted to move away also.
Turned out I was very wrong.
More to come...
The sun just peeked out from behind the clouds to shine on the mountain for the first time in days. The weatherman last night announced that this was the 4th wettest October on record in the Champlain Valley, the region of Vermont in which I live. Only Son’s daughter was here on a long awaited visit last week; it rained every other day while she was here. But to look out of the window onto the valley and see the layers of cloud cover over the lake and the lower areas was, and is, magnificent. Even Granddaughter was struck by the loveliness.
Yet as I type this, peering on occasion through the window to see faded autumnal colors against a brilliant blue sky, I know that I won’t see many of these Vermont Octobers.
Taciturn has decided that although he likes Vermont, it is as a place to vacation and not as a place to live. He doesn’t feel as if it is home--his home. We have been here all of eight entire months and have not yet completed unpacking. But his decision is made.
Several unfortunate things have happened that I’m sure influenced his decision. One was the house we bought. We were had, no way around it. Structurally it is more sound than not. But we realized after closing that there was a reason the art work all remained on the wall until the last minute, etc. The furniture and the art were arranged to hide a multitude of cosmetic sins such as large carpet stains, holes in walls, things like that. We paid major money for a secret fixer upper. Of course we purchased the house from a real estate lawyer, so no point in attempting to recoup anything.
Soon we realized that many of the windows did not close. The inspector told us some of the windows would need to be replaced, but after we moved in it was obvious most of them needed to be replaced. Kissed one full week and many, many thousands of dollars good bye.
The summer this year was extraordinarily hot. Living in northern New England, we did not think we would need an air conditioned house. Most houses aren’t air conditioned anyway. Taciturn is very susceptible to heat and suffered enormously. We inherited a room sized portable a/c unit, but it didn’t do the job. We purchased another, larger unit but needed to install a vent hole in the wall; we hired a fellow who had worked for the previous owner to do that for us. He agreed to the job--but never came to do the work. Meanwhile, at my new parish, I met a construction worker. He ended up doing the job after a few weeks of suffering while we waited for the first fellow.
Other things happened, but the biggest reason Taciturn decided that Vermont was not meant to be his home was that the house in South Dakota, the big house with all new appliances and newly painted walls that he always loved, did not sell. Taciturn, while not a religious man, began to consider maybe God did not mean for it to sell so again it could be his home. He said nothing to me about this gnawing inside of him.
As Taciturn mused, I threw myself into creating a life. I joined a health club and took up spinning. Saturday mornings I walked into town and bought a weeks’ worth of veggies at the farmers’ market. I had coffee with friends. Writers’ workshops were easy to attend as so many were close. Many Episcopal churches are in the area and I visited until I found a lovely small parish in which the people love each other as a real family. I even was invited to write an essay describing the role of the local alternative newspaper in our decision to move. Imagine my amazement when my essay was published on its own page!
Yet it seemed the more I threw myself into this new life, the more my husband backed away. The day after I submitted the essay to the alternative newspaper, he announced the epiphany that Vermont never could be his home. I had noticed that he did not seem to engage in life here, but he did not engage in life in South Dakota, either. There I was out of the house and busy all of the time but wanted to move away. He said he wanted to be there but seldom left the house. While still in South Dakota, I took that ennui to mean he really wanted to move away also.
Turned out I was very wrong.
More to come...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
And we're off
In two hours I will be on the road back to South Dakota. It is a two day drive, so I won't be here or on Facebook much, if any. There are a few odds and ends to do to close up the rental house besides the normal get ready for the day things, check out with the property manager, and off we go.
With apologies to my South Dakota readers, I really wish I could stay. Missouri is the place I consider home. I have thoroughly enjoyed this month here. More reflections to come!
With apologies to my South Dakota readers, I really wish I could stay. Missouri is the place I consider home. I have thoroughly enjoyed this month here. More reflections to come!
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