CBMused

At some stage in the night I woke up from a dream, and in the dream I was in the process of building a house. Let me point out that I know nothing about building anything in my waking life, or it would seem, in my sleeping life either.

The house was all timber, as in there were no bricks. I was up to the bit where I had all the cladding on outside, had partially built half a roof, but them suddenly decided I needed to build a second story extension.

So I set about making the first beam and then I had that fast-forward thing where it was nearly finished. It even had furniture, a TV and ornaments in it - the only problem was that it had no stairs.

So I quickly decided a spiral staircase in the entry hall was required, and no sooner had I thought of it when I was standing on the top rung. I recall it was very rickety as I had only just installed it and it wasn’t secured properly to the floor of the second story.

At this point I looked around and as the staircase wobbled back and forth, so did the entire house. I realised that although it appeared to be almost complete and self supporting, I had actually not put a single nail in… anywhere. It was like a house of cards, all leaning against itself.

And there was I, standing on top of a shoddilly installed spiral staircase deliberately wobbling it…

♦

With the boxes unpacked and the furniture in place it was time to paint. In addition to my compulsive need to clean and scrub my new home with the same vigour as the old, I also had a need for colour. The crisp clean white walls that accompanied the “new” grew tiresome after only a few short nights.

At the hardware store I narrowed my choices for a feature colour to a soft sea-foam green and a striking crimson red. I have always been a person of two different minds, so why should this experience prove any different? When I asked another customer for an opinion (an older gentleman who looked as if he might always be building or fixing or painting something) between my two selected shades, I received more than a simple one word answer.

He encouraged me to choose the lighter sea-foam colour. In addition to talking about how it would compliment my hair he explained that it would go up neatly, without any incident. On the other hand, he gently informed me with the wisdom of someone who had painted metres upon metres of surface that the crimson would prove problematic. The first coat that I would apply would not look anything like the red square in my hand. The second and third coats would look even worse. It would not be until the fourth and fifth applications that my wall would start to resemble the vision in my head. With perseverance, and not a small amount of sweat, the sixth coat would show me what I had hoped for; in other words not a job for the faint-hearted.

When he had finished his lesson on painting he strongly recommended the softer safer colour, as if the other had vampiric qualities. I thanked him for his advice, but I couldn’t resist asking: So if you went to visit a friend in a new home, which of these colours would make a greater impression? His answer was not surprising.

Now I have some brushes to clean and a few more coats of paint to apply. And incidentally, the flecks of crimson look pretty good in my hair.

♠

Moving house is one of the most strenuous experiences one can endure, ranking high on the stress metre level with death, divorce and losing a job. All of which allude to a loss of sorts.

There are two places to take care of, two places to scrub clean. Then the packing of your belongings from one house, ensuring nothing breaks or is lost in transit, followed by the onerous unpacking while you try fit objects in new spaces that once had a comfortable home. Your favourite wall art no longer matches the new place. Your well-loved vase that once graced the entrance of your old home looks totally out of place. Mmm… and you’re too sentimental to purge.

A period of adjustment ensues; a new place to eat, a new place to sleep yet the bed feels awfully familiar. Then an eerie sense of homesickness sets in, and a general disorientation follows for a day or four. There’s always a well-meaning new neighbour who pops in, or a few friends who arrive unexpectedly with a few cold ones and a gourmet pizza. Every little bit helps to make the new place feel like home.

So with all this to consider, I shouldn’t be surprised that emotions have been a little highly strung. But what is one to do after the last wistful glance, the last c-ya has been said and one is tripping over boxes?

It’s simple.

Don’t do it alone. Do it in company. A strong and full-bodied company. Like that ageing Cabernet Sauvignon you’ve saved for a special occasion. Decanted and poured into your best glassware. If you can find them. Failing that, a six pack will do just fine. On a man. Naturally.

After all, can you think of a better way to settle in a new home?