Today was my first day back to work since we moved. For whatever reason I have yet to bring over my alarm clock so I awoke to the random loudness that is the alarm on my cell phone. Navigating my sleepy way through the foreign landscape of our new bedroom I opened my eyes to find myself staring into a still unfamiliar mirror. What strikes me first is the delightful way the lights that flank the mirror reflect in my eyes. Four dots of light frame each blood-shot eyeball. Behind me a monochromatic portrait of curtained glass softened by a geometric background of glass subway tiles. After jabbing lenses into my eyes and brushing my teeth I look to my right. I see a perfect two foot square portrait of the world outside my window. In the distance the rising sun awakens as well, filtered by a screen of budding trees. In the foreground rests my trusty Rabbit on the gravel drive, her five cylinders at rest, eager to awaken my morning commute. I’m fortunate that I get to wake up to this every morning that is chosen for me to be here. I don’t know if architects take the time to plan these sort of scenarios out in their head but I like to think that the good ones do. I wonder how many people pick up on the beauty that surrounds the most mundane acts of our lives.
Stepping out of the shower I peer at my high-definition portrait again. The sun is higher now, without looking at my watch I can tell I’m running a little late. The bathroom at our old place looked out at the neighbor’s house. Unless he was holding a large clock in his window I doubt I’d be able to gauge the time even remotely close based on day light alone. Here I have nature’s time-keeper all to myself.
Several minutes later I’m washing the remnants of my four-day old beard down the drain. The cool water runs over my hands and I’m reminded that some of that very water came straight from the sky above our home. For all intents and purposes I had just taken a shower in an early Spring rain. Lingering not too long I scamper into the bedroom and giggle to myself like a little school girl. The soft carpet is spongy under my tired feet. While it is unneccisarily difficult to sweep, the carpet more than wins hearts with its warmth and feel; arresting any feeble attempts to leave the room in a bad mood.
Reflecting on the pure joy that will be my morning ritual, it’s impossible to belabor the drama and setbacks that besiege the house. But with each passing day they are laid to waste. For this house is hell bent on showing her stuff and no man can keep her lashed.
The sea does not bear the weight of the ship builder.