Today I restored the window I started with yesterday as much as possible. The damage was mostly superficial, and I removed that what was rotten and replaced it with that what is new.
Like in real life the damage was worse where the window was most exposed to the environment and it’s lingering influence. Like a bad look or underhand remark water seeps down and crawls into narrow crevices where it slowly eats itself further inside.
This time we were lucky, the window was made of good quality wood and though it lived it’s whole life on the weather side it did well. I have to say that it didn’t help that later in life someone used modern sealant to prevent more water from coming in but this also prevented the already trapped water from ever moving out again.
Today I started restoring this 90 year old window. Taking care of old things is what we all are good at and I am glad that I get the time to restore this window and let it live for an other 90 years.
The poet in me often wonders of while doing this kind of work. I restored many boats, doors and windows and all of these have a metaphoric place in the minds of poets and even normal people.
If I look through the windows in the house where I live now, life goes on like normal. If I turn of the news my only worries would be not to forget toothpaste later today when I drive to that house, my home for now. But I also have a window into the rest of the world, and though I could close the blinders, light always seems to seep through the cracks on the sides. I is a strange world that seeps through these cracks of my blinders, one where I am not part of but at the same time are overwhelmed by, by the harshness of it light in my secluded room.
I restore windows, maybe because they have seen it all and deserve some love. I have seen it before to, the history books are full of the story that unfolds itself now in the world and there is always the older generations you can question.
For now I wonder why I only had questions when I was 8, and cared less for the answers. The world was an open world, a play ground I looked at through my young eyes, my own window without blinders or harsh light, or dark room.
I sometimes wonder what kind of people decorate their house with decorations you can buy in a store. Look at this picture, two lamps that are the same, each in a corner for balance and some abstract plant-like thing in the middle. I know you get these decoration tips on TV, and you can read them in books, but how empty is your life if you don’t have interesting objects to show that come from your own history and a more individual taste. You have probably 4 or 5 stores in the local mall here filled with all these fake memorabilia and plastic kitsch; there is a market, no doubt. If you visit these people behind windows, as you see in this picture, you come into a world where things seem all neat and in order, but besides some pictures, you have no clue of who they are and what their story is. Or maybe you do, and their fake house represents their fake lives and thoughts, thoughts filled with freshly molded ideas from the nearest convenience store. I don’t know, I probably jump to a conclusion, but I still don’t understand the need to decorate your life with all these made-up…moods. Be yourself and not a part of a warehouse full of the same fake decorations.