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Location: Work.
Listening: "Desperately Wanting" by Better Than Ezra.

Last night's entry will be completed tonight. My eyes became very dry and blurry near the end, and Peter tempted me with chess, so I put my final touches on hold. The gist is that Peter and I are both losing our childhood homes just as we're setting out to find a home for ourselves--and it seems simultaneously in perfect order with all of the other things that have run parallel in our lives and eerily fitting. Of course, while both sets of parents are moving from what he and I consider to be the quirky but familiar to the uniform and somewhat frightening, the circumstances are slightly different--in that my parents have actively chosen to do so and his have not. Two sides of the coin, it feels like. Two perspectives on a process. Two means to the same end.

Thankfully, Peter and I have discussed the housing issue at length, and we seem to agree on the important things--trees (preferably woods), water (a pond, lake, stream, river...anything, really), land (not a postage stamp, but not necessarily stretching all the way to the horizon--just several solid acres, perhaps encircled by a split-rail fence), arched ceilings, wide windows (all of which are functional), plenty of counterspace in the kitchen, nooks and crannies for rocking chairs or bookshelves, and a darkroom, likely in the basement. I'd be satisfied with a modest farmhouse on a small plot with woods. On Sunday mornings, I could pull on paddock boots and take an apple to the barn, where we would keep my horse as well as the car and a modest art studio. Drive into town for the paper and doughnuts, drive back to drink coffee with Peter and the Great Dane on the front porch before digging a bit in my garden, hammering out a few pages on my Underwood with the cat in the little study in the attic, and then going rambling in the woods with our cameras. My handpress would reside in the basement with Peter's dark room or, if we lacked a basement, up in the attic study, while Peter's developing room would be under the stairs, hidden away. "Town" would be big enough to provide ample services (post office, groceries, preferably a small hospital, Peter insists on broadband as well *smirk*) and to entertain, but not so big as to be intrusive--and we wouldn't be on anyone's "scenic route" either. There would be snow (but not blizzards) in the winter, color in the fall, rains in the spring, and just the slightest humidity in the summer. There would be stars at night, and birds in the morning. There would not be neighbors close-at-hand or a "committee" telling us what we can and cannot plan on our own land or when we have to take our Christmas lights down.

Ever heard of the Wyeth place in Brandywine, PA? That'll do nicely, thanks.

So, that said, we still languish in the one-bedroom in Long Beach, and discuss other creative outlets. At Hamburger Mary's on Saturday night, we discussed electronic music, and our desires to make music as part of a band. Peter mentioned that he had been contemplating taking up bass--as had I, only after realizing that the instrument I truly wanted to study, violin, would likely require more constant attention and discipline than I could give in the foreseeable future. Not that bass would not--simply that, if it's an immediate desire to create that I'm trying to satisfy, I don't think the violin will do just now. So we briefly discussed the possibility of two basses doing something funky, and the people we know who have musical leanings and might want to see what could be done. Ended on a "hm..." that will likely continue as we move along.