Our writing word for today is "escape" - go figure. After twelve months of various combinations of lock down, I need an escape. I would love to escape to the country; go for a walk in a forest, with a stream maybe, and oh yes, a hill or two. I need a different four walls to look at, different windows to peer from and different landscapes to survey.
OK, I have been doing virtual escapes almost daily. I've been reading. I finished Dutch House by Ann Patchette and have ordered Bel Canto, which is ready for pick up at the library. While waiting for Bel Canto, I finished Jamaica Inn and read two articles from the New Yorker, which my writing friend forwarded to me, both written by Ann Patchett. They were amazing escapes.
I have been "re-doing" an upstairs bedroom - the whole, patch, sand, and paint (several coats) odyssey. I have, as result, been able to escape to paint and furniture stores on-line. There, I muse about colours, Iceberg, Palest Pistachio, Snow White. I visualize how furniture will look in the room. Mentally, I add plants and a writing desk. I escape to a Victorian oasis of letters written to imaginary friends.
Even the building of two new bookcases from Ikea was an escape. The physical assembly of perfectly matched hardware with pre-drilled holes in a kind of braille for wanna-be carpenters was both a mind and a muscle challenge. How will two new beds, with balloon duvet covers look, in the light from french windows, framed by two tall white bookcases against walls of the palest Wedgwood Blue, I ask myself.
Unfortunately, mental, however, possessive it may be for some people, could not hold me for long. As soon as the stores opened, I was at Home Depot buying a few new plants for the bathroom, a curtain rail to keep them in place on a narrow sill and a wrench to fix a squirrel cage, bought to keep the rodents from a feeder. Alas, the birds didn't come either. More on the wrench idea later.
I have escaped into cooking, Rogan Josh, chicken pot pie, a few fancy sauces, and a dessert or two. I browse through old cookbooks, click on dozens of digital recipes and conjure up some concoctions of my own. But these are always done within the repetitive parameters of the home, four walls, locked doors, closed windows...there is no physical escape. Can you hear my silent scream?
Maybe I just need the proverbial "rabbit hole." I need a different kind of imaginary escape, an adventure, perhaps with some intrigue. Unfortunately, the "axe-murderers" across the street have shown themselves to be quite pleasant. And the guy who kept a mannequin at the side of his house, which scared me to death every time I passed it, has moved. There just remains a colourful van decorated with decals, a surf board and a plastic flower or two. Do I wait for the right moment and just hop in or do I knock first?
The pictures? Earlier escapes.
Have a wishful day
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