BUILDING WALLS

Okay, okay, okay. . .  I'm writing.  Stop yelling at me!!!!   


Sorry . . I was just yelling at my brain because it was yelling at me.  My brain and I are having a shouting match.   Sometimes blogs come into my head at inopportune times.   I just finished my Tuesday morning weight lifting class which meets at 7:30.  I want my breakfast.  I'm hungry.  But NOOOOOOO!   I have to sit down and write this blog because it is bursting out of my head.  And I don't even know what it's going to say.  So I'm juggling my kashi with blueberries while I'm writing. . .because my brain won't leave me alone.   So here goes:


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"Before I built a wall, I'd ask to know
 What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." 


from "Mending Wall" by Robert Frost




To begin with. . I love that poem so much.   And I don't know why.  I have always loved it.  From the time I first heard it, or maybe read it, in high school. Because there is a difference between reading a poem and hearing a poem.  But whatever. . . I love to read this poem aloud.  I could sit and read it aloud time after time and not get tired of hearing it.  For someone who struggles with attention deficit, this poem must soothe me in some way.   And I don't think it's the message in the poem.  I get the message. . .I believe the message.  I agree that walls can be a problem if one thinks of them as ways of separating people instead of bringing them together.


I never liked deeper meanings anyway. I like literal meanings.  I'm not so good in the abstract.  I always loved conjuring up the picture of these two men meeting to stack the rocks out in the field.  I can picture the "neighbor beyond the hill" more vividly than I can picture the narrator. To me it's a poem about two guys mending a rock wall.  Fine. But mostly, I love how the words of this poem sound when they are read out loud. I love the combination of these words.  Even if they had no deeper meaning at all.  I have one other poem in my life that strikes me the same way:  "The Shortest Day" by Susan Cooper.  I could read that one out loud for an extended amount of time as well.   Words can be like music if they are put together the right way.  I admire people who can put them together.


ANYWAY. . . . . (so far I can't believe that this is what my brain was yelling at me about. .  . )  


So I'm coming out of the gym at 8:30 having done some extremely satisfying pumping of iron.  To feel stronger today than I did three years ago is so mind-blowingly wonderful.  And I looked across the street to where the Crappy Little House sits, and I was gratified to see multiple vans and trucks outside.   Men hard at work.   I was hoping they would work yesterday, but with the MLK holiday, most of them were staying home with their kids who were out of school.  I totally understand that.


So I make a quick stop at the house to see what's cooking.  And it's going to be a productive day.  Outside the guys who had started the siding were back to continue that job.   And inside, a new pair of guys were hard at work installing the drywall.  My rooms are going to become rooms.  I will, when I return tomorrow from my weekly trip to choir practice, see the house with the divisions it will have.


We have totally reworked the inside space of this house, and now I will get to see what we created.   They are building walls.


And when I saw that my mind went directly to my poem. . "Mending Wall."   A poem that discusses, albeit in a veiled way, the possible negative outcome of constructing walls.  And it got me to thinking about my house.


I am about 70% hermit.  I think I got this from my dad.  I get such pleasure from returning to my house, wherever it is, where I live alone, and just settling in. . to let my brain operate any old way it wants without anyone else asking why I'm either doing what I'm doing, or why I am not doing what I SHOULD be doing.  When you live alone, nobody SHOULDS you!


So I guess I was drawing comfort from the construction of the walls, both inside and out.  Outside the siding is going to supply the beautiful, soothing green color that became "my" color way back when I lived in the townhouse in Burke where I was raising my children.  That color has followed me through every other house since.  I choose it every time.  Even when I think I'm not choosing it.  I love seeing that color begin to wrap its way around my little house.


And on the inside, the drywall is going up to hide not only the electricity and pipes that will provide me with the power and water, but also the insulation that will keep me warm and cool.  That drywall will become the noise barrier that will keep Rt. 151 at bay,  and the walls that will support the furniture. They will create the spaces that will define my daily needs.   I'm so happy to see these walls going up.  I'm loving these walls.  I celebrate these walls.  And I'm not thinking at all about "to whom I'm like to give offense."


Can my love for the words and ideas of "Mending Wall" live in peace and harmony with the love I have for my own walls?   Am I walling anybody in or out?   Not sure.  Have to think about that.


In the meantime, I'm going to finish my breakfast, read that poem aloud about 50 times (because nobody is here telling me I shouldn't do it) and then get ready to leave for DC.  


Don't know if this made any sense.   But my brain has settled down at least.