This blog space certainly sets out to be an inspiration to any and all creative pursuits but I couldn’t help but see the irony in the view out my kitchen window yesterday. On the 
day I wrote my first blog on “making things,” this is what I saw.
I was making coffee and watched in amazement as this snazzy machine took away this house’s last breath. I proceeded to take my first half-awake photo of the day. Its claws smashed through the walls like they were cardboard and debris went flying. The workers hosed the house down (gave it morphine) to keep the dust at bay as it got clawed.
I met a neighbor walking her dog who knew the couple that used to live there. (We met as I was getting into my car. If you paint your car in polka-dots, your neighbors will talk to you.) Apparently, when the wife died, the man continued to live there for years. The house fell into disrepair as so sadly often happens to old folks living alone. The man apparently made his living repairing pens. That’s right. Pens. I know you’re out there, buying new pens when you could save the earth and keep this man’s business afloat by taking in your old pens for service. SHAME. But no, you had to get new, shiny ones at Wal-mart while the pen cobbler’s house gets demolished. 
He has, seriously and sadly, moved to a retirement home though–the status of his pen repair business remains unknown– and his son has decided to do what you see here. I imagine old pens waiting for new life in box after box inside the house. (If these pens could talk, I mean write, what would they say?) Who wants to bet the new structure will be of cheaper quality and as hideous as a strip mall? And its new owner will sell mechanical pencils?!? I hate mechanical pencils. I could be wrong about this house. Maybe it had ghosts?
In any case, I will keep everyone informed of this lot as things develop.
Last month, I was building a tower with my 2 year old niece out of toy wood blocks. Well, I was building the tower. She watched mostly and waited eagerly for me to complete the last block. When it was completed, she karate-chopped and slid stomach first into the tower laughing hysterically. The tower was destroyed! Yes! Let’s build again! Th
e taller the tower, the more fun the destruction will be! Yes! Don’t think about stability and aesthetics, just slap it together, Aunt Jean. It’s time to knock something down!
Boo-yah!…or something.
