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Little house in my backyard
with a beard and a pipe and a parrot on each side…
11-1
- At the new house we've moved into there is a small shed in the backyard.
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- I've only been in it a couple of times while we were negotiating the loan and doing the walkthroughs. It looks like it was a place that the previous owner used as a workshop. All along the walls there are little cubbyhole shelves labeled with the names of paint colors...
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- Perhaps it was a place for ceramics, or model making.
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- I'm not really sure.
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- Whatever it was though, it was their place. A little room to be creative.
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- A place to do the thing they loved.
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- I remember standing in the kitchen of the then empty house, looking out the back window and seeing the faded white walls of the little house in the backyard for the first time. A door, a roof, a room. A simple little shed.
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- Before I realized it, I was conjuring images of guitar practice sessions and crowded band jams in my mind. I found myself imagining the smell of fresh paint and the whine of a circular saw against lumber as a hundred untold home improvement projects were tackled. I envisioned home studios, secret rebel bases and sanctuaries.
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- I saw myself in that shed.
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- It's part of what made me want this place for my home.
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- The little brick house that we moved into had been abandoned for a long time before we showed interest in it. Once we started looking into property values and credit reports the investment company had a throng of builders and workmen refurbish the house. They redid carports, painted walls, installed carpet and pvc piping. They cleaned all the surfaces and vacuumed all the dirty areas.
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- They swept all the mess from the shed into a corner, but they never picked up the debris.
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- How long had it been since there was a place I could go to do the things I love to do?
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How long has it been since I've swept the floors in my own places?
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- I went out into the backyard and opened the door. A harsh smell rushed out the opening and I could hear scrabbling as bugs scattered in every direction.
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- Webs, dust, and waterlogged wood were in all corners. What looked like a pile of birdseed, sawdust, and cockroaches loomed near the entrance.
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- I want to go into this little room. I want to make it my place. I want to paint the walls with music, carpet the floors with crumpled up story ideas. I want to go in.
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- But I stand here, wishing there was more light, wishing someone hadn't abandoned it or treated it so badly for so long. I stand here, not taking the first step; not sure of where to put my foot down.
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- I want to go into this place.
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This place of mine.
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But I haven't yet.
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