When we first came to this place, the house we live in, we did so after many deliberations. We were selling a new house and this one someone built in 1840. Reading Henry Miller’s book about Big Sur, I found myself every so often longing to live there. Such a pristine place, wilderness. No Internet. Then I stop and laugh.

I couldn’t do that. My office is my wild west with Internet.  It is in a barn almost two hundred years old, an anniversary I will not celebrate from this life. No matter my optimism, (a Pollyanna attitude my sister-in-law calls hers), I don’t expect to live here when I am ninety-three.

Maybe alive, but living? To be so lucky to climb these stairs.

Why would I want to live here then? Because right now this old barn is my Big Sur. The views from its windows you have seen. If I can’t write here, I can’t write anywhere.  And, when writing deadlines slip by me, which I think is part of their character (not mine), I love life.

This is what I get from Henry Miller.  He loved life. I have not read any other book of his as yet, many of which were highly controversial. People who love life often do stir the pot.

Why do so many want to trap life with silly theories that they  have no ability to confirm? Why indeed.  If not yet controversial, I hope I will  be. Not as a whiner, but as a lover.

3 thoughts on “Lover

  1. Carole Webber February 4, 2014 / 1:43 pm

    The house we lived in for ten years before moving here, we built, happy years there but no real attachment. it was just a lovely house, easy to leave behind . only regretted leaving family who lived close by,
    Here we are in a house built in the mid eighteen hundreds. It has an aura about it. a history of those who occupied these rooms before us, a view from the kitchen window that changes with the seasons like an invisible artist painting a landscape.
    I must admit we have an attachment to this place like no other
    I would love to have the ocean in view , a Big Sur, but I will settle for what we have, New England at its best.
    I only want to leave when my days are over and pass a rich history of occupancy on to those who follow us here., a happy place.

    • fictionfitz February 5, 2014 / 7:27 am

      Comes through to me on your exhibitions. Or is it expeditions?

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