the dream house story

October 2, 1992 journal entry

I drove out to Debbie's with the proposal for 'artist in the school'. They were blowing up the road, digging at it with backhoes. There were hardly any flagmen – you were just supposed to go slowly. Debbie had my dream house, straight out of Harrowsmith, looking over a peaceful little lake just right for the kids to go boating on. There was a gazebo with a fireplace and wooden floors, beautiful table with chairs, big windows.

“I’m so glad to see this” I told her. “It makes me believe the world might be OK after all.” “Yes, I understand” she said. I turned away from her to look out the window. Why couldn’t we have done this? Built that house by the beaverpond in Thunder Bay? Why had we taken the step away – or around – and moved to Kenora instead?

She liked my writing. “You’re really good at being practical and clear, but there’s also so much heart” she said. She added a paragraph about the isolation of the area, and we clarified a bit about the folk shapes in two places. Other than that it was fine. We drank tonic water with ice and a slice of lime in the gazebo. The lake was shimmering in front of me.

At home, Ned got me to help him unlaoad a heavy iron stove that he'd bought on sale. He has plans. We have the supplies to build at least two dream houses.