On the Block: 01.25.2001
by Lissa Sims
I hadn’t really thought about it. When I sit down to write, it is just me and my keyboard. I’m not necessarily thinking about the 5,000 or so people with whom I’m sharing my innermost thoughts. (I probably should, as my friend Stephanie gets mad when I write about her and my father worries about how my revelations will affect my [I think he really means his] reputation.)
I’m not the sort of person who has many secrets. On New Year’s Eve my mother said her resolution was to know her children better, which led to a tearful family discussion. Later, I asked her how she could know me any better. She replied, “Of course I know YOU. YOU are an open book, I mean everyone else.”
The truth is that your friends and neighbors know more about you than you would like to believe. I figure I might as well set the record straight because there are always stories of some sort floating about.
For instance: several of my friends have studied under my aforementioned neighbor who teaches at UK and I have heard many things about her that I am sure she wouldn’t imagine I would have been told. (I should just say at this point that they are favorable reports such as she is a worldwide expert in her field, brilliant, that sort of thing. I do worry about what I say about other people who may not want their inner lives revealed or even speculated upon.)
For instance #2: When I was about seventeen and way too young to even consider such things, I learned of a salacious story floating around about me. It involved me, a boy, nudity, riding on a horse and some unmentionable nonsense. Every bit of it was 100 percent untrue but I wonder how many people heard the story and just repeated it without pausing to consider the veracity much less the practicality of the whole thing.
My writing intends to be one half confessional and one half setting the record straight; think Anne Sexton meets Marianne Willman. Plus, I like the stories about the lives and thoughts of other people so I’m just adding to the pot with mine.
Writing is interesting that way (you write something to yourself, by yourself then you get to share it with thousands of other people) and, you still have it.
I always feel sorry for artists because once they sell a painting it is gone. They can spend months pouring heart and soul into a project that goes off most likely to never be seen again.
When artist Christine Kuhn said that she had sold several paintings in the last year I asked her how it feels to sell a painting. She said “Pretty good.” As she pointed out, when people buy your paintings it allows you to continue to do the thing you love best in the world and eat. And buy houses.
Christine and John Weaver utilize every room in their well-preserved 100-year-old farmhouse. One room is dedicated to Christine’s art, others to yoga, weight lifting, and of course the basics like sleeping, eating and watching television. Throughout, solid, seemingly perfect oak floors lend a feeling of solidity to the home. Christine said she thought the house needed some improvements. When I pointed out that she mentioned the furnace had been replaced, the appliances are new, the walls appear to be perfect, the bathroom has been renovated and anything that could be done has been, she admitted that it really just needed a new screen door and more furniture than she and John have.
Because the house sits on a small rise the views from the back deck are expansive and one can really feel the solitude. As Christine said, “You can make love on the deck.” And that is how rumors get started.
Listing as of 1.25.2001
2 car garage