February 1st, 2005

cat quilt painting

eeeeeps

I've always been a snob about such things, I admit. In the world and not of it; travel light; living in tents, as it were, like Abraham Isaac and Jacob; foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head; strangers and pilgrims on the earth; stranger in a strange land.

So I never really expected that I would ever own a piece of the planet, although I did plunk down a few hundred for a little plot next to that which holds the bones of my father. That, I said, is all the real estate I'll ever need. Proud, I was, to say that.

I also had the notion that one's political views were somehow tied to one's relationship to property. If you have none, it's easier, says I, to be, say, an anarchist or a socialist. Who knows if I might, upon getting a little piece of the planet, turn into something more revolting than revolutionary, that is to say, a political right-winger. This did not sound good to me.

Nevertheless, here's what it comes down to: following a period of detailed investigation into all the pros and cons, etc., and taking full advantage of the modern wizardry of creative financing, I now hold legal title to two things: one, a house on two and a half acres of land; and two, a debt to match.

My love for things medieval gives me comfort in this: I am a serf, in bondage to this bit of land.

Yes, friends, we closed on Friday and have spent the weekend moving. My self-image as one who is to be forever homeless is giving way, subject to the stages of grief, to that of a (shudder) responsible citizen, that is to say, one who would have had the right to vote in Colonial times. Having been through rage, denial and depression, I now accept a new role in this stage-play we call life: that of and American "homeowner." A new adventure, for me. I'm still trying it on for size, and it will be some time before the fit is comfortable.

By the way, it's quite a nice house. Feel free to stop by.

greyfeld
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