July 12th, 2000. Wednesday Morning.

There is a kind of attention to detail that comes with ownership. Even if you are not really the anal, pay attention to every detial and separate my laundry kind of person the act of acquiring a home immediately installs a wide and deep attentive streak that is hard to ignore. Each time I see a wasp or a hornet hanging around teh windows, each weed I see poking up through the cracks in the front interlocking stone, each fault, crack, crevice of peeling of paint cries out for immediate attention. I have suddenly become a listmaker. Currently, there are June bugs (sp.?) flying around outside. I think they are coming froma wall in next door’s garden, but I am off to investigate in a minute. At 7 in the morning in my boxers and a tank top. Yes, now I understand all those weird and bizarre things I used to see as a child. “He’s not crazy son, he’s a homeowner” as the neighbour chased squirrels with brooms and fought weeds in his yard at 6am with roundup bottles like six shooters on his belt. So I am going to fight the evil, and will returen to let you all know, perched on the edge of your seats I am sure, how the rest of my day went.

If it ever comes down to me or you, I apologize ahead of time.