It's in a red notebook

The stuff that should be on this site are going into a red notebook. I bought the red notebook last Christmas at the Barnes and Noble store in Grand Rapids. Not only is it red, it is made in Spain. There are any number of ready-made excuses for the posting avoidance: busy with house projects, entertaining guests, attention to the present summer course combining with preparation for the second. Any or all of these. But none, really. The red notebook is without the public air.

Derrick and I talked about homeownership over a vegetarian dinner: pride, prejudice, responsibility, cost, night sounds, neighbours. He’s an invaluable connection in this especially lonely summer. He stayed for five days. The Tigers won and lost their series games against the White Sox. Shayla finished a “Flowers in the Attic,” and maintained social connections on social network sites from my laptop plopped in the kitchen not socialising much with her father and I. We together took on a handful of improvement projects: replaced the original, late 1930’s electrical outlets (which prior owners painted over with the walls), removed the cabinet doors, built bookcases, filled those bookcases, shopped home furnishings outlet stores, swapped old incandescent bulbs with higher-efficiency spirals, moved furniture from room-to-room, tackled the lawn, ran wires from room-to-room, and others I shamefully overlooked completing this morning. I learned to appreciate, and come to rely upon, the employees at Home Depot and Lowes. The advice received from the various folks in those stores is high fucking appreciated, if not a huge savings in avoiding unnecessary work. I realise now that a house is a living thing. Its pipes, a circulatory system (a little rust), electrical wires/sockets the neurologics, the middle wall it’s spine. Put in the context of owning and caring for a life is simultaneously terrifying in its responsibility and a huge source of pride. Reckon this is the nearest to parenting I’ll get (unless a dog enters the picture), so enjoy it. How I feel about being a single parent is a continuing development. On that note, fuck HGTV. That network is yuppie propaganda. Each show I saw about finding/buying one’s first house centered on 20-something straight couples whose criteria, every time, was “enough room to start a family.” Ugh. The realtor made a similar comment to me. Thanks, society, for adding a dash of inadequacy to my once-in-a-lifetime achievement.