great balls of ice
its very hard to concentrate on reading french philosphy when there's hail pounding at your doors and windows like a giant rain-stick, and the wind whooing and roaring round the chimney like some angry deep-voiced animal. Its a good thing I'm reading about how houses come into their own in storms, how a house really becomes when it is neccessary,
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WW wrote loads about his house, specially DC. Arguably one of the most pivotal moments of his life is that captured in the LOOOOONG poem 'Home at Grasmere', all about moving into DC. Which was the first settled home he and dot ever had, since the family was split up and moved about when they were all very young. So he develops this thing, about DC (and grasmere) being not just his and d's home, but home for their brother John too, 'his quiet heart's delicious home', even though John never lived there. DC becomes Home then for WW, even though they only live there for 8 years, and spend much longer at Rydal Mount. It never had that same power, in the imagination or in their lives. Bachelard has this big thing about how we dream our houses; in day dreams, night dreams, in poetry, memory. DC was definitely a dreamt house.
Bachelard also has a thing, strange in a man of his generation perhaps, about how housework creates a home, by solidifying its internal being with care. Apparently Rilke just loved to polish his piano. Whatever that means ;) So, care for your annex, dream it a home, and it becomes one. Cunning huh?
Was thinking about you today for 2 v diff related reasons:
1) I went for a long walk this afternoon in the sun, down to glasson, and walked back along the canal. Lovely Canal!
2) I had heinz tomato soup for my tea, in front of the fire. Thats home-making stuff that is. But it reminds me of two important heinz tomato soup places: granny's house in Eastriggs, and your boat. Immortalised by soup! May it live forever in our hearts.xxx
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