little house on the prairie

I've contemplated something.

But, I'm not sure: significant things demand significant attention. And I'm not sure if, in this case, significant attention requires something as significant as it's own website. I mean, after all, Brett and Lenore did it. They took the plunge. They tried to orchestrate their own little construction in the midst of a larger one.

A decision is immenent: I pondered it a little, even stretching to consider a domain name fitting for the grand event. But I think, perhaps, that this -- here -- is where this site becomes more interesting. And so, simply, I'll avoid the tangled distractions of yet another website, and focus my energies here. And begin the bold story of another, less abstract garden, somewhere in a little prairie town called Edmonton.

Thus: a new theme... build and home. The story of the following, begins:

The city, it seems, has woven us a step deeper into it's patterns. It hasn't consumed us, but rather than rootless waifs dancing across its surface, we are setting tendrils and finding our place. Last night, amidst a flury of random emotions, we started a "file."

Oh, it's not a big file. It's just a thin little legal-sized pile of documents. But it's our file, with our names on it, and some numbers that would be meaningless beyond the context of us. Last night we sat down, created some simple sheets of paper, tucked them away in the safe confines of something larger than anything we can imagine right now, and set a cascading snowball in motion that will ultimately lead to us orchestrating the chain of events. Those events, pending a million unsettled factors will -- in a few years time -- and stetching year imortal, find me standing in a small patch dirt, pulling weeds and tending the few little bits of life that etch themselves into some managable meaning between the tides of everything that makes us human. A lot, a yard, a block of cement that creates a drive leading up to a complex entangled structure, otherwise known as a house.

It's a frightening thing. Consuming. Yet, powerful. Fundamental. And, reassuring that everything is worth something. Eventually.

September 29, 2004 after 11AM | friends , house , meta | perma-link

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bradgarten is the evolving sequel of the infamous lost.in.vancouver, a multi-layered blog-feed of years past. A few dozen pages of scribbles, quirks, ideas, invented conversations, and descriptors can managebly make the leap into an opinion of some sort.

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