Monday, April 12, 2010
No, I don't mean the dust or pink fluffy insulation, the occasional spider or vermin. In the wee hours when everyone within the house is sleeping, do you wonder whether the spaces between the walls invisibly stretch and expand into grand otherworldly banquet halls, where hungry ghosts nibble on phantasmal pasta and sugar-skull dainties, sip their churchyard wine, and spend the endless hours chatting with their fellow diners about the lost trivia and gossip of centuries past?
Or maybe the spaces between the walls slowly fill with the colors of the inhabitants' dreams -- one slowly shifting color if it's been held by one family for generations, multiple patchwork colors of dreams in places that are rented by many families over the years. Renovate at your own peril, for the minute such dream colors are exposed to the air, they shiver into a greyish-brown dust.
Or perhaps, if you're my friend Tara, the spaces between the walls and the floorboards in your house are populated with feral babies, who hide their hoards of toys and milk bottles and other flotsam in nest-like caches where they will never be found unless you happen to get a new kitchen.
Or could there be wonders more wondrous than those? Probably. In the meantime I should knock off all this supposition and make some dinner.