Adobe Abode

April 30, 2010

I recently made an inquiry on an historic house for sale.  Built in 1786 and on the town’s historic register, it appeared from outside a place of beauty and grace, evoking the best dreams of a home well loved to live well in. Stepping past its wide granite threshold for the first time however, I was enveloped by a pervading dankness.  It evoked memories of a civil war fort I used to explore as a child; a smell not unpleasant in of itself, but not something one associates with a pleasant dwelling.  The stone wall in the attic was damp to the touch, a rather graphic reminder of recent rainfall. Speaking of which, I have no complaints about being paid a graphic designer’s wages: it is no small gift to be paid to be creative at work all day, and have the results appreciated. But in terms of living in an antique, funds are not stockpiled high enough to address immediate issues such as a foot-thick stone facade that’s been leaching rainwater all the way through to its inner walls for oh, more than 200 years, give or take a decade?

The yen for a home is strong and ceaseless–would even seem to be a necessity beyond the rudiments of roof and walls.  But the truth is that I already have a home, already am a home: But we have this treasure in jars  of clay…I am an earthen vessel intricately formed of dust–yet carrying the mystery of the ages–the truth of God in the flesh.  If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. I will choose to abide, even as I wait on an abode to house this simple yet complicated soul cloak–and in the meantime, will be thankful for the chance to make my living playing with the  digital equivalent of wet clay–with apologies to CS3 (speaking of antiques) and the aged aroma of a pioneer dwelling just after the rain.