“A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.”
- Chinese proverb
An unsettling few days pass as the Room of One’s Own comes together more quickly than I could have hoped. It’s unsettling in that I feel I have one foot in one room and one foot in the other: Books herded from all over the house; files sorted and culled – dear lord, what to keep, what to shred, do I really need to hang on to that twelve-year-old draft of half a story that would kill me from embarrassment if anyone were to read it? Yes, I do. It goes to the back of the file box, behind some other failed pieces, just in case.
There’s no sense in trying to write until the Room has settled. In the meantime, I have the pleasure of ruminating on kindnesses: A friend who’s a dab hand with a drill has installed new window blinds; another, with a few deft strokes of a paintbrush, has finished the trim I gave up on some years ago. Still another has given me - given me - a small Persian carpet to warm up the scuffed floor; and one more has come forward with an armchair and a lamp.
Then there’s the ever-patient Business Guy, who urges me along, saying yes, spend the money as I agonize over a desk, book shelves, office paraphernalia.
All of which has come about thanks to the good sense and good heart of The One who, now fledged, only rests her head in the little bedroom a few weeks of the year, and who seems to think her mother could use a Room of Her Own.
I think a Room-warming party will be in order.