My attic is the land of unfinished (that is, unimportant) projects: Furniture waiting to be painted, table tops waiting to be tiled, those kinds of things. To my credit I do get to them and get a lot of things done, but they need to be back burner to everything else. Can we have another non-plague four-month shutdown?
But me being me, part of which is a champion road hunter, I’ve chosen to make it look cool in all its unfinished project glory. Old rugs, old scrap boards, painted crap, blah blah blah.
But why? As I was moving this junk around this week, it occurred to me that I have roots in this B.S. Growing up, one of my best friends was a neighborhood boy named Dana. His mom was my mom’s best friend, his sister was friends with my brother and sister, but Dana was closest to my age. He lived on a large chunk of land in the woods, and our greatest fun was roaming for abandoned shacks and small garbage dumps and pilfering anything cool. We’d drag it back to his old barn, and we systematically took over the barn’s entire loft and made it into an imaginary apartment. We’d pretend to be a really old couple (George and Martha, of course), hard of hearing and would shout at each other from our rockers.
Dana passed young, at 30, (but had realized his dream of becoming a veterinarian), so I can’t share this odd reversion to childhood with him. But here’s to Candy the Palimino and Fernando the Lama’s barn loft and apartment to George and Martha.