May 04, 2007

11:15 a.m.

Homestead Dreams

I just found an entry from last month that I didn't post. In part, it read:

For some reason lately I've been having all these fantasies about what if I had all this money and I could buy this apartment house. I've imagined ways I could fix it up or renovate it. Of course if I had that much money I'd get something elsewhere, maybe abutting a state forest; nevertheless the idea has persisted. I've even thought about my landlord's daughter, who lives downstairs, buying it from them if they ever wanted to sell it. That seems logical. She lives there with her boyfriend and he does everything a homeowner would do, taking care of the property. She is very particular about certain things but they're both very sweet and I like having them as neighbors a lot. Well... I just got a call from my landlady, and she told me they're selling the house... to their daughter. Isn't that spooky?

She assured me nothing would change, meaning, I suppose, the low rent. That's good news, and if the house has to be sold, I'm grateful that it won't go to a stranger. Yet I can't deny a feeling of sadness, too, like I missed an opportunity. I didn't; it wasn't one. I barely have the money to meet my bills every month, nevermind invest in property. And I know I don't want the responsibility of owning an old place like this, with tenants. And it makes total sense that their daughter would be the next in line. Then why do I want to cry?

The first thing I wanted to do was call my best girlfriend to tell about it. Then I realized I don't have one. Rose is like a best friend, but she's constantly wrapped up with Marc, her primary relationship. Dar is like an almost best friend but not a best girlfriend, and it's almost impossible to call him without interrupting his work. My band are like best friends but not exactly; Carol isn't the one I'd call to tell my inmost thoughts and share my fears. So I don't even know whom to share this strange news with. So I've decided to transfer my fear and anxiety about the house selling to my on-premises, very particular neighbor, to wondering why I don't have more female friends nearby, or any, really. There should be some chick I could call with news like this. And how weird that I must have been feeling the vibe that the house was selling soon. I just hope there aren't any new, strange rules on the horizon. I hope the rent doesn't go up. I hope they don't think I'm a slouch because I'm never the one to bring the recycle bins inside.

But she's looking at the house now, her apartment, the parking area, the porch and yard, the basement; looking at it and thinking, "Mine." The sense of ownership changes everything. It's like when Dar finally bought his cleaning business, it changed him fundamentally. Suddenly he had roots, foundation, clout. I find that I want that kind of clout, that status of owning something. How bizarre to feel this. It unsettles me a bit, particularly considering the sketchy financial landscape in which I live.

Furthermore, I've been having romance fantasies about everything with legs -- I mean, guys I'm not even attracted to. Here in the midst of my dating moratorium. Bored and unprovoked, the idle mind makes such benign mischief.

It was a few days later I learned that my rent was, indeed, going up, and after the cloud I'd been under it was a final blow to serenity. However, just that night Dar came up with the solution of increasing the fee of one of his window accounts whose payment comes to me. He'd been intending to, anyway, and it will exactly cover the monthly increase.

Another hint that the universe has tilted back towards its proper place (huh? Can the Universe really tilt, and still fold in on itself?) is that a package I ordered which was, unbeknownst to me, shipped FedEx, which I never can receive here because of no doorbell etc., actually arrived today and the driver was kind enough to call me on his cell phone and ask me to come down to sign for it. Voila, new bras from LaSenza (thank you, Meheil, for that tip which has saved me from the ill-fitting fate of most American bras).

********

I've been having one of my favorite daydreams this week, which I'd not thought about for a long time. You know how you imagine living in a little community with your best friends? This came up as I was talking with my new/old friend Evie. We went to high school together but only got back in touch last year. Anyway, she's hating her post-divorce situation which offers her little in the way of likeminded adult company; hates her job, teaching music to middle schoolers; loves her daughter who is 6, but resents the Ex who won't even return a phone call, much less lift a finger to help raise his child. Anyway she's struggling with depression, a failed attempt at a relationship with a jerk she met through iHarmony, and just not knowing what to do with herself. She confessed she'd really like to learn about Buddhism and live somewhere like an ashram or an intentional community, but how would she provide for her daughter? Without her school job she'd be out of insurance. Would it be a favor or a hindrance to her child's life to live in such an alternate way? I told her there must be places like what she's describing, and single moms in similar situations who might have insight as to how to solve these problems. As a proponent of pursuing one's bliss, I said I was wholly in favor of her dreaming about what would really make her happy and trying to research possibilities. The internet is an amazing tool, and she loves going online.

"But," she said, "what if going and living in a commune is just another escape, like websurfing, or smoking, or getting lost in book after book?"

"If what you're escaping is this terrible lifestyle that you hate," I replied, "what's wrong with that? You're goal oriented; you're looking for a more holistic and peaceful way of life, and you're considering the welfare of your daughter." She sounded hopeful for the first time in our conversation.

It wasn't until the next morning that I remembered my little Pioneer fantasy. I've often dreamt that I was a colonist once, or that I'd be chosen to go colonize another planet. As itinerant as my upbringing was, and as flitty as I've remained, the idea of creating a sustainable home-base (no, that sounds too military; call it homestead) has always been supremely attractive to me. I like thinking about what a little community would need, in order to be as self sufficient as possible. How they could live nearly off the grid. Among the people I know (who would, of course, buy into this land and opportunity), there are those who practice medicine, accounting, carpentry and stonework; those who can weave and knit and sew, cook and garden in a big way, and network with the outer community for supplies and information; those who want to raise alpacas and goats and guinea hens. One who can figure out how to manufacture biodiesel fuel, and generate electricity independent of the electric company. I'm an absolute goddess at interior design, and I can do things with textiles and pull weeds and compost and go fishing, and I'm able bodied enough to do just about anything that someone is willing to show me. Ah, what a lovely idea, not the least attractive aspect of which is that one would not need to make so damn much money to live, year to year.

Naturally this would have to happen when I'm not touring so much any more. But, maybe when I'm done with the Celebrancy course, and begin hiring myself out for rituals, I can put that money away to fund a little of the dream.

Meanwhile, I have work to do today, and the sooner I get that done, the sooner I can go for a hike.