I'm never going to have a house for all time. More than ten years ago I looked at a house in upstate NY. An old Victorian thing with formal rooms, big columns in front, redwood planks buried behind plaster and lathe, a row of lilac bushes in full bloom their purple and purple fragrance bobbing in the spring breeze. That was a house for all time.
I've always dreamt of a huge house, rooms filled with eclectic furniture. Always ready to come home to. A place to keep my various projects. My monkey and horse and magic oak tree out front. (Yes, ok, I was seriously influenced by Pippi Longstocking.) A place called home. That would never change, nor go away, even when I might.
I've found many a home, bought it, moved in, made it beautiful, lived in it a relatively short time, and inevitably moved on. Passing the home onto another set of hands in better condition than when I acquired it. I'm doing it again.
A little over a year ago, I bought a house with a friend We found a house and bought it and lived together. We delighted having tricked time and held parties deep into the future.
But the future is a tricky subject. And life often gives you turns and twists. They say the future is much like the present, only longer. But that is not exactly true. The future does not go on inevitably, it ends. My friend was called away and I got a boyfriend whose first words (after I told him I lived in the future) were a trickster's taunt on putting the future behind us. I knew he would tear me from the future, eventually. Well, eventually is no longer the future, it's today.
And soon, the future will be the past. It will be one short chapter in the life of heathervescent. I can quip, well, I've been to the future, I lived in the future, I used to own the future, the future is now in my past. And when the future, is no longer a concept of time unfurling in front of you, and merely a construct of an object in the past, then what?
Will I be destined to merely live in the present? Or will some other possibility present itself. . .
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