I am here. The drive down was punctuated by pit stops that confused me by their familiarity.
“I must have stopped here before.”
Is it the homogenizing of our American landscape? Are the gas stations and rest stops, all designed to be familiar, easy to navigate, unchallenging to the tired mind and body, or have I simply stopped at the same places every time without realizing?
I can’t answer this question. It’s typical that I don’t remember. Typical that I would think it was somehow evidence of something more organized than my way of making my way around.
So, I am nostalgic.
I came into the house: The Jacquard Center. The scent of the freshly washed floors (Fabuloso!) and the table by the front door with the trifolds of local interest, (this time for sure I will take a quick trip here or there…for sure!). The view straight ahead across the huge conference table as I enter. The trees. Only the tops. Is that right? Only the tops? Of course! I am on a mountain. We are on a mountain.
My mind, it seems, is now set to expectant mode. What will happen? What will I do? I’m going to stay up late.
I’m going to get up early. I sat in that chair before. Cynthia sat in that one. David was there. All those nights, soldiering on, engrossed. Is that the time?!!! We struggled. We did our secret things. We dreamed. We plotted. Did our math, checked it twice.
“This is going to be so cool!”
” Is this right? Does this look okay? I sure hope this is okay.”
“Can I make more?”
“More wine anyone?”
My fellow soldiers, dreamers, doers, compadres, makers…they’ve left their traces.
I am nostalgic.
I can almost replay certain moments. The laughing. The glances. The sound of knives on cutting boards in the kitchen. The scratching of pens, the clicking of the keys on keyboards.
I have been here before.
This time I will take a walk in the morning before sitting all day at the computer.
There are turkeys here now. They are big. I saw one on the road. On the way down. I thought it was a crouching man. “What was he doing that for? Right in the middle of the road?” “Oh! Wo.” Not a man. Goosebumps.
This time, it really is different. This time, I am here before everyone. The quiet is filled with tasks. The sound of footsteps here and back. I woke up so early- ready. I should stay in bed. Surely it is too early to start. Nope. Just get up. Barefoot…walk to the kitchen. Look out the windows. It is pretty lovely- all that green. Then…after coffee…the lifting of plastic tub lids, the mac start up tone, the wheels of chairs and stools moved about.
There is that sweet, secret excitement –a tiny voice, maybe it’s high pitched?
”It’s gonna be so cool!”
“Can I get it all done?”
“What else am I forgetting?”
I keep walking over to look at the studio. The studio that will be. I am here to build it.
Right now, it’s new floors, new walls, new windows. It is hard to photograph. There is no place to focus.
It stands open, expectant. Ready to be filled. Ready to become. It’s all going to come together, like, Bang!
Empty now. Only a few hours off before the boxes and the bodies arrive.
“Let’s put it here. That should go there.”
“We should get some….”
“Yea. I agree, and also, you know what else would be cool….?”
“Yes! That would be so perfect!”
“This looks so nice…it’s built to order. No hacks. Let’s make it right.”
“We could just stay in here all the time”
“Yea, but…don’t forget…there are benches up those steps, around that corner…and seats just outside the studio window……”