We went to work today and then stopped off at IKEA for the "art table." I said, "Let's not call it our study anymore. Let's call it our studio."
"Our creative room," Tom said.
"That's what a studio is," I said. Am I a violent negotiator?
We moved his desk and chair up. Pots and pans. His clothes are in his closet. My clothes will soon be in my closet. We moved up a dresser for Anne's room. We moved the wicker chairs onto the west balcony of the bedrooms.
I washed the hot pads.
The daffodils are crumpling in their pot.
A small anxiety rises in my throat.
I haven't known many people who go back to where they started. Oh some never leave, but it's curious to consider going back and remembering and seeing the same field with a few layers of history added to it. If I had to go back to where I started, I might need more than a shopping cart and elevator. I would need a blood transfusion from the wrists I would have slashed.
ReplyDeleteWe recently decided to start calling our spare bedroom "the conservatory" instead (even though it technically isn't). It just feels more wonderful. So I'm with you on "studio," all the way.
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