What’s In A Window?

I know, I know! It’s Christmas Day and what’s with the window question? I’m not sure, myself, but this thought niggled at my mind this morning:

‘What’s in a window? Not ‘in’ the window, but more like out the window I think.’

Some background. I write. All sorts of things. Thoughts tumble out of my brain helter skelter. Some of those thoughts coagulate in a way that makes this blog possible. Some would argue that coagulate is not the perfect term to use here, but then there’s no accounting for taste, is there? Or maybe taste isn't the perfect term, either!  Oh well….

Someone recently told me that I write because I have to. Something is inside of me that demands an outlet and that takes the form of writing. And so it is. Lots of ideas that for some reason have an urgency to be expressed.

I am not sure I’ll ever know if this is a good thing or bad, or maybe even a mental quirk!! But write I do and I feel better for it. Order out of chaos, perhaps? Or maybe an insight that simply must be formed and expressed? I’m not sure why I write. I just do. And it feels right to me.

Now, back to the window thing.

We are facing a move to a new home. Circumstance demands this. We have no choice. The house is gone in foreclosure and short sale and bankruptcy. No tears here. Just reality. It has happened. Now to move on.  But where?

Many options exist. Some are reasonable and simple. Move to an apartment. Downsize our lives and move into a smaller place. Focus on who we are and what we want to do with the remainder of our lives. Let freedom ring in this process; do not allow struggle to limit our horizons.

This seems a simple way to handle it. But of course it is not simple.

What to do with the family memories? The multi-generation trove of family heirlooms and historical fragments? How do you give up a secretary desk that’s been in the family for 80 years? How to part with a plate with a 45-year memory? The photos of the kids, grandkids, first homes, travels to special places?  You know the drill. Moving sounds simple but it involves so much disruption.

Once I was a nomad, moving practically every year. Then I set down roots, stayed 23 years in one home, nearly 20 in the next one, and now, 42 years later, we are facing nomadic life again. Seems quite improbable.

So we visit apartments. Some have few windows. Others have large open patio doors. But what is missing? A view. A vista. A tree or planting that draws the eye and mind to new thoughts. Instead the view is of grilles and bumpers. Parking lots. Ice and salt piles encrusting the parking lot and cars. Ugly in winter. Hot and shimmering in the sunshine in stifling summer.

No this is not a vista. This is a specter. Not pleasant. Thunderously real. Gritty.

Perhaps that is the new reality of our lives? But then what of insight and inspiration to write thoughts of beauty and meaning? It is not what is in the window but what is out the window. What is the view? What is the feeling?

Once I lived in a high rise apartment building on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. One whole side of the apartment was an expanse of glass. Yes we looked immediately out into the view of another high rise, but with a small angle, we saw Lake Michigan far out, miles from shore. We saw thousands of cars traveling the Drive, and thousands of acres of park land lining the shoreline of the lake. It was beautiful. The lake shifted colors constantly as sun and clouds mingled and altered light values on the water. Trees and lawns offered an expanse of evolving vignettes affected by light and shadow. Those views outdoors drew me and my thoughts to far away places.

So, too, at my current home. The computer is beside a patio sliding door. I look out on trees, lawns and shifting images of nature. Squirrels, birds and chipmunks adorn these images. Companions with my writing. Drawing me outward toward another perspective of the world.

Not so with cave like apartments. Some are aesthetically negative, not bland, but actively destructive of beauty. A garbage dumpster, parking lot. An alleyway fence. Weeds. Cracked asphalt. Ugly. Reality. Not pretty. Jarring, really. Oppressive.

As we look for a new home we also look for a vista. A view that pulls us out of ourselves and toward something promising and possible. A new life. A new beginning. A new hope of tomorrows.

Just like Christmas. The hope and promise of new life and possibilities.

May this day be just that for you and yours! Let windows and hope rule your life.

December 25, 2013