The Eyrie

There may be a variant spelling: aerie. And some difference of opinion about pronunciation. But the effect is the same— a bird's view of the surroundings. It fits for my little white office here on the flat of the block. Office, refuge, eye of the storm. The storm today is the discussion about "Tilex," which I bought in accordance with the cleaning woman's wish. I spoke, ill advisedly, with Aged Parent about the toxicity of said substance, at length, now to my deep regret. I couldn't get to an acceptable non-toxic version on my checkered day of errands, settled for the toxic version (as I suspect many other well-intentioned souls have done also) for the sake of pure expediency. Well...now I have to eat my progressive, green words and justify to AP the acquisition of said toxic substance. Lordy above. Just don't try to phone me for the good 1/2-hour this will take. Probably I will...LIE. Yes, prevaricate, obfuscate, and downright not Tell the Truth. Why bother? Are my ethics compromised? Or is there a clause in the contract that understands the Aged Parent footnote?

Wartime

In the Bay Area during WWII (and immediately after) there was a tremendous housing shortage. There were masses of wartime workers building ships at yards all over the Bay. They needed housing, as did all the others posted here to service the PTO, the Pacific Theater of Operations. One place available for housing was the second floor of this house on 5^th Ave. And this was before my parents built a two-story addition (1961) onto the back. So it was even more cramped then. There were two families (their configurations aren’t known) living on the two floors of this house. Hmmm…sounds familiar.

So for me there is a convenient metaphor: wartime. Am I the counter-intelligence agent/stalwart housewife seeking out those who would damage the war effort and thwart the Free World? Or intrepid journalist waiting to be sent to Hawaii and then farther west to follow the troops in their valiant yet bloody slog to victory? The mother with stars in her window hoping none turn to gold? (If you contact me and know what gold-star mothers were you get a free glass of wine and possibly some more history fun!)

I could channel all three and with luck absorb their strength and vision. After all, wartime is just a metaphor.