The Church is a whore, but she is still my mother.”
— St. Augustine
Sunshine and warm breeze blowing, I do love you my dear Annie Dillard. Your words make me ache and long to feel “the fire of God’s wild breath” upon my face. To be surrounded by large trees and deep oceans and the mad rush of not knowing what comes next. To be utterly out of control and still feel safe. The comfort I find in the dangers of the wilderness is something I have yet to transfer to the dangers of the metropolis.
I had a moment a few weeks ago. Driving home from work late at night, the heat of the day still rising up from the concrete, windows down with Ryan Adams singing in the background, sirens drowning him out on occasion. Close to midnight and the streets were still full with people desperate to escape the heat of their apartments. Mothers yelling at their babies, babies crying for lack of sleep, boys fighting, girls flirting, drunks stumbling and singing. Chaotic. Honking horns and running redlights, it was nothing like my late night drives of yester years, when I drove just to be enveloped in the night. Yet I was still overcome by this feeling of this is where I ought to be, and the peace that floods with it.
After having undertaken a few projects for our own home, I’ve decided to continue refurbishing antique and other used furniture. Here’s hoping that these projects will lend to some added cash flow and also give me a creative outlet.
This table was found in a corner at Boomerangs – a thrift I frequent in Jamaica Plain. It was a steal and structurally sound, but in need of some TLC. If you’re interested in purchasing, please leave me a comment with your email address.
Here are the Before & After photos.