Slowly getting used to our 292 year old house in the forest. Little things like window blinds and Target and IKEA storage make things surprisingly reassuring. The newness distracts me from the occasional squishy floorboard I sink into and the various wood and old smoke smells throughout the house. The weird little window screens that we prop inside the windows are now only letting in half the bugs they were a week ago. As a result, the moths are no longer flying directly into my forehead while I lay in the bed reading by the glow of my iPhone. The urge to launder the bedding with DEET has passed with fewer morning mosquito bite discoveries. The kids have finally discovered the yard with meandering paths, rock walls, old wells, and ferns. I am slowly letting go of the fear that they will be crushed by the steel cage of a speeding Volvo which leaves room for the new fear of tick bites and the resulting Lyme disease. Obsessing (a little) on the contents of a black garbage bag stuffed into the top of the well. Trash? Remains? Was a previous tenant being just lazy or were his/her motives more dastardly? Amazed that my fear of bugs has disappeared on the East Coast. I am smacking some spiders by hand and only using a 1/2 inch wide wad of paper towels to squish the really meaty ones. I catch mosquitoes and moths while they fly. I might have gone rustic.
I have discovered that decay suits me.
Karina Coombs 