Getting a room

I got the paperback shelves up Friday, a row of Bradbury, a row of writing books — Pressfield and the like — my most cherished science fiction paperbacks, and a top shelf of classics. The office is coming into shape, but a bunch of stuff remains in boxes and may not be displayed in the new space.

It’s kind of daunting to see how much stuff I still have in boxes and bins while the nooks and crannies of this supposedly larger room appear to be almost full. I have accumulated much in almost 70 years — that’s a long time, so I guess I should not be so surprised.

I have three clocks strategically placed around the room, so I can always see what time it is from whichever of the three chairs I’m inhabiting. “What time is it” has always been an important question in my work; the date, not so much, and so the calendars are not as prominently displayed. The music system is in the center of the bookcases; it can be tucked behind doors, but I love to hear and listen to music, so why would I hide it?

The room is a museum of where I have been, a collection of influences, a place to explore and reminisce — what can I build and create from these resources at my fingertips. They are the finished products of hundreds (thousands) of other creative minds, and they are the fuel for my own journey, that meandering quest here and there that I hope will lead me to, if I may, strange new worlds and new civilizations, or at least to a little something that will encourage, entertain and perhaps enlighten other folks along the way.

This is my “attic” — I know what Bradbury meant when he looked around his cluttered office and asked, “Well then, right now, what shall it be? Out of all this, what shall I choose to make a story?”

I’m thankful for a world where I’m free to explore and accumulate and learn and thrive in my way. I am not a wealthy man but some days, when I look around at all the neat stuff at my fingertips, I feel like “the richest man in Bedford Falls.”

Well then, right now, what shall it be?

Seasons turn

The dogs and I were out back when a great honking came from down by the bay.

Our 3.33 acres are divided in three parts — up here where the house and field are and we spend most of our time, a woods we visit sometimes that slopes downward toward the water, and finally a wetlands that essentially belongs to us only on paper, where the wildlife have at it undisturbed.

The property line is maybe 150 feet from the bay of Green Bay, so this would count as “water view” property, not waterfront, if it weren’t for the woods. It’s only water view when the leaves are off the trees, and technically then it’s an ice view most of the time.

The honking came nearer, and soon about a half-dozen to eight geese lifted noisily over the trees and turned southeast in a “V.” More honking, and maybe another dozen or so followed the first bunch. Finally the third and largest wave came into view, maybe 50 geese in this group, turning in the same direction, three Vs each larger than the one in front, heading southeast. Actually, late November seems a bit late in the season for their migration, but there they went.

I waved and said, “So long, see you in the spring.” The dogs kept sniffing the ground. No doubt they notice the turning of the seasons, but they don’t make as much of a deal of it as humans do.