Michael Munas (michaelboy) wrote,
Michael Munas
michaelboy

It Doesn’t Matter

In fresher days, I often hoped to build something great. Whether it was a path in the woods, an underground covered foxhole or even a collection of sticks that felt marginally like a clubhouse. But I now realize, in a deeper way, that it was never the place or even the end result, but more the act of dreaming to make it so.

Sometimes, with an increased sense of mortality, I think about not having the opportunity to finish a particular project at the lake house -- but then it really doesn’t matter so much. Recently, I’ve been planning a television tower there to receive broadcast television. As planned, it will include a weather station, an outdoor router for Wi-Fi access at the docks below and a single Yagi-style antenna. I have three large sections of tower in the garage, and have dug the 2’ x 2’ x 3’ hole for the concrete base and have it formed-up and nearly ready to pour. I’ve conceptually devised an electric winching system for raising and lowering the hinged-base tower for maintenance as well. I hope to finish it, but even if I never do, it is the numerous nights before sleep of dreaming about the design approaches that has given me everything I could ever want in regard to its purpose – for this and many other dreams I’ve had.

The Fall of Rome and of Speers (May 11, 2010)

During a few summers, I spent much of my time turning an abandoned farmhouse into a place we all could go. It was a ramshackle two-storey place next to an old strip mine on Magee road off of County Road 56. There was a large sturdy barn and a small pond on the property.

After a few hundred hours of re-construction work, we found a pot-bellied stove, some old furniture and a few other household items. I had planned to use a rainwater recovery system so that it would have a bathroom facility and had even placed a toilet but the house became too big of a party place and that ultimately led to several police interventions. Eventually the barn and house were burned to the ground and the land reclaimed. I drove by this place a few years ago, and because of the re-contouring of the land, it was really difficult to remember where everything once was.

* * *
"We ran into the barn at Speers and I placed my hands around your hips just so I could feel them move. Your unwashed jeans were smooth, your thick hair was dark and I remember how you smelled. Everyone was partying in the house but I wanted you with me. This never really happened, but I've often thought it should have."


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