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Drooling on the Pillow

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

A House Is Not A Home. Sometimes It's Barely A House 

The iPod is very clever at throwing up the perfect tune at the perfect time. This morning I was feeling melancholy, but a kind of happy melancholy where you're enjoying the mood and could hop out any time you want. It's great mood to watch a noir movie or read a hard-boiled detective story by.

So I strap on the music injection system and it gives me Diana Krall singing Garden in the Rain. How do you do it, Mr. iPod?

In other news, the house is also catching my mood. The pipes started howling last week. Actually one pipe, somewhere vaguely basement rear. But you have to be standing next to it to know exactly which one and it only does it a couple of times a day. No evident relationship to water use. I've gotten all the advice I need; sediment, brass to aluminum fittings and the ever popular air pockets. But you and I both know it's just a matter of being completely over the heat wave.

And the front storm door refused to open yesterday for about half an hour. It was stuck in a way that forestalled conversation. It wasn't going to discuss the situation and it most definitely wasn't going to open. And then it did. Just as easily as ever.

Speaking of conversations, the stairs will not shut up. Walking up the steps is like talking to my Aunt Myrt. You call her up and ask how she's doing and she'll say "Don't ask!" and then take you through a forty-five minute tour of her body; every ache, every pain, every leaky pipe.

My house is getting as crabby as me.
Posted by: Sluggo / 9:25 AM
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