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Going up?

9/8/2014

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One of the features I like most about our house is a simple thing.  Our stairs, which start at the front door, are not entirely enclosed.  In fact, they are open into the front hall about half way up on the left and then open to the second floor the rest of the way on the right.  The best part is that section in the front hall.  As you can see from the photograph, it's pretty handy.

Our office is a little dormer room directly over the front door which looks down on the street and, wonderfully, through a space between two houses to the water guarding the fifth and sixth holes on the Golden Hills golf course.  In the winter when the trees are leafless I can see Twelve-Mile Creek glinting in the sun.  I refer the office as "my little perch."* From this vantage point (I am sitting there now as I type this post) I have watched a full cycle of the seasons, kept Quicken up-to-date, edited photographs, written letters, talked on the telephone, even kept count of the sometimes numerous FedEx and UPS visits to the street on a given day.  And, from here I can almost see into the living room below.  It's an hospitable spot.

But, back to the stairs.  Having such an inviting and even essential room on the seldom-used second floor means that all sorts of stuff, from paper to camera equipment, has to go one way or another.  While on occasion a backpack or a tripod gets left at the foot of the stairs for a time, it's the pickets supporting the bannister that get pressed into use regularly as a sorting device.  Catalogs to peruse, documents and labels to shred, bills to pay -- all the stuff that needs to go up, it all ends up there, each category in its own slot.  The kitchen counter stays cleared off and I am saved many a climb.  Convenient.  (The appliances in the laundry room serve much the same purpose for everything needing to go to the garage, from tools that need to be put away to recyclables on their way to the various bins.)

These collection spots make me wonder.  I wonder about the considerable and unstoppable amount that comes into the house every day, mostly paper, but there's plenty of plastic, glass, steel, as well.  It's staggering, particularly in light of the fact that we are not shoppers for very much beyond groceries -- and then we carry our own bags.  We're not bringing home what I call "dustables."  It surprises me how much, in our down-sized state, we have to dispose of every day. 

It's just the way life is.  I know that.  But, all of it means something, doesn't it?  All that stuff going up the stairs, coming back down, making its way to the garage is made of some raw material, was dreamed up, designed, produced by someone, exists for some purpose and ends up somewhere.  It's part of what makes our lives work. 

I have an occasional moment, when I'm placing things between the pickets at our stairs, when I realize the considerable time I spend controlling the flow.  Then, I consider what life here would be like if I didn't bother to deal with it.  Either way, I have a hunch it's more controlling than it is controlled!

How does it seem to you?

* Click
here to see a view of the office on a neat day.


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There's more, always more ...

9/1/2014

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A new morning, a new week, a new month.  It seems just the right day to resume writing a blog post a couple times a week.  Then, there's the long walk Belle and I used to make each morning, abandoned for some reason weeks ago.  As the skies brightened today, though, we were out the door.   

The trouble is with that -- with the morning walk -- is this:  Recreational walkers like Miss Belle and me have been banned from the golf course.  Our possible routes are paved  and mostly dead ends.  And worse, the views make camera work a challenge.  It's hard to avoid open garage doors, parked cars and power lines.

Continuing to pout, it seemed to me, would do nothing but put an end to the wonder of the new day, the new week, the new month.  Two months of lamenting the ban is entirely sufficient.  Without the unobstructed views of the tended course, what could I find to photograph -- besides, of course, leaves (see today's flickr image) and flowers, edges and curves, little things all? 

The choice was mine:  Pout or pay attention ...

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There was --  is -- plenty to see.  Absolutely.  We came up a long slope and looked right.  The ground fog warmly illuminated by the sun, the pine and myrtle back lit, the sun peeking through the greenery.  I couldn't have asked for a prettier or inviting scene.  Belle and I stayed in that spot until the magic ended. 

And, I could have missed it -- by not going for the walk, by believing my worst, awful, negative self, by locking in on my expectations.  It sounds trite, but our expectations can limit us terribly.  While we keep our eyes focused on them, we miss the real and wonderful and invigorating view.  How I don't want to do that. 

The sky's the limit.  Happy September!
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