I had an old professor who had me over for dinner once a long time ago. Back then he lived only about fifteen minutes from where I live now, though nowadays he lives a lot further away. It felt like he lived in the middle of nowhere, I guess he did. Anyways his house was dialed. He had lived there for decades and decades with his partner who refused to marry him because she was too feminist for marriage. Which is probably a good thing, because she ended up leaving him for being a dork, as far as I understand the hearsay of it. 

His house though was dialed in. Every surface and place had a purpose. Every jar of rice or lentils or flower or salt had a little spoon carved specifically to serve that purpose, and they all had a home based on decades of being lived with and improved from that living. It was great, even his movie watching setup was tight.

I want every part of my house and property to feel dialed. From the moment you pass in through the gate, I’d like to have a gate, I’d like it all clean and tidy and tweaked. There’s a lot between us and that right now. But maybe I made a step in the right direction today. I began the process of moving my office. It’s in Robinia’s future bedroom, which should be safe for another few years. I’m sure that’ll blaze by. 

I’m hoping my office can be it’s own structure some day, that’d be cool. Then the house can just be for living together and preparing food and reading book, while the place I do work can be for work, and it can be a stone’s throw away. That sort of distance is a kind of dialing in. 

My old office will become Abby’s workshop, real small and nice. The drawers I’ve made places for but not built are a better fit for her than for the work that I do. 

One day it’ll all be fit, the bedrooms and the loft and the attic and the shops and all of it. 

That’ll be nice. 

The trick’ll be enjoying getting there, so that I’m not happy only when I’m a grumpy old man who’s spent his life complaining about how much better everything will be in 20 years.