Being in love

Joyce came by to visit yesterday, and said, "can I take pictures? I can see that you find something to love here, but I have no idea what it is. I'm hoping it will emerge as you work on it, and meantime you'll have the pictures to look back on."

I briefly saw it through her eyes -- stinky blue cushions, stained wood, rambunctious piles of toppling stuff (or possibly the other way around) -- and was briefly unnerved. I suppose it's a testament to her faith in me that she hasn't raised a lot more questions!

Me, I see the whole shape of this boat -- the perfect lines above the water; the swoops of the semi-planing hull; the way the angles of the cabin module snuggle against the whole, creating places to rest and places to stow the materials of living; the honey-golden living beauty of the wood, underneath the grime and scars -- which are totally removable; the little areas that can be reshaped to accommodate my active life more gracefully. Beneath the disappointing dusty pinkish-red of the badly weathered hull, I clearly see the sunset tone that will make this fun little boat look like a lambent flame flying across the water.

How could I not be in love? I'm at home here. I am finally home.