Isak Denisen had a farm in Africa.
And Peter and I now have a house in Michigan.
So…..since I’ve always felt like a city girl, tearing through the decades in major hubs like Manhattan, San Francisco, Chicago, and other places where the art and business of theater and writing live, this buying of a house in a town barely incorporated , a town called Willis, Michigan, does seem like some sort of breakdown….sometimes.
At other times, it feels like the sprouting of new wings.
A break in my life that will permit light to fill me in that good old Midwestern and honest way I remember from years ago.
Wings, not attached to seagulls, but red wing blackbirds .
Wings I’ve not trusted since my early days in summer stock, at Wagon Wheel Playhouse in Warsaw, Indiana, where the playhouse was mere miles down the road from the Billy Sunday Tabernacle in Winona Lake, Indiana, and where the townsfolk couldn’t decide whether we actors were demons or savior angels….the surrounding countryside of cows and sheep didn’t care either way.
Wings I’ve not trusted since our years at the Barter Theater in Abingdon, Virginia, where again, cows might have easily outnumbered the humans, if it wasn’t for the world wide popularity of that famous old repertory theater.
So I guess I’ve spent time among the cows.
And I don’t seem to have broken down yet.
Or have I?
I am, after all, not young anymore.
Maybe I’ve earned myself a good restful breakdown.
The Midwest seems filled with the comfiest easy reclining chairs and sofas, several of which the former owner of this large well-made house on Talladay Road left us, quite generously, when he sold us the sprawling three stories.
The chairs call my name, embrace my body as if they were made for me.
This is dangerous if I wish to avoid, not so much a break down as a melt down into ultimate sloth and relaxation. Kiss of the Spider Woman? No!
Embrace of the Reclining Chair.
A prison I seem to enjoy far too much in our few weeks visiting this house we plan to fully move into next Spring.
And to re- acquaint me with college memories and dreads, the first snowfall came a couple of days ago. My current home, San Francisco, does not know snow, and so, for the past decade that glorious city filled my arms with sun, gorgeous water views and absolutely no freezing temperatures, lulling me into believing my need for snow boots and heavy coats was now gone from my life.
Well…..take that!!! Say the gods of a whimsical lifetime….buy a house in Michigan and what do you expect????? My new pink snow boots are on their way, with matching hat, gloves and scarf!
Good gods!
Pink….pink boots…I not giving up my West Coast persona so fast. Pink indeed.
Peter wanted this house – and I want what makes Peter happy – because it happens to be right across a charming pine filled meadow from his parents house, and Peter has wanted a house of his own ( our own) for years now. He can also take care of all of us without having to hop a jet plane to do so…and we could not ignore the astonishingly low price this magnificent house was asking…..it would cost five times a much anywhere urban. It is spacious and filled with all sorts of possibility. And we can stroll over to the comforts of family whenever we want to do so.
It seemed silly not to buy it.
And now I bounce between euphoria and absolutely disbelieving despair as I weight out my final years away from concrete streets and noisy traffic….though SF is far less noisy that NYC, god knows…..but Willis, Michigan is creating noise inside my far too creative brain that helps my emotions to bounce here, there and far away on an hourly basis.
I don’t lose sight of the fact, none the less, of the possibilities for my further growth as a human, as a spirit and as a creative soul. Me and the cows may still have a lot to teach each other.
I do love animals.