After Edgar Lee Masters
I was forty years old, focused on
my real estate law career, and active
in the First Congregational Church
in Canton, so was resigned to never
getting married, especially never having
children, until John Ross spread his yoga
mat next to mine in the Hatha Yoga class
at the Canton YWCA and that was it.
We returned to L.A. for the wedding
then looked for a farmhouse to renovate
in the Central Illinois area. Meanwhile,
I conceived the twins IVF at the Methodist
Medical Center in Peoria as carpenters
hammered and sawed, and the septic
system unclogged mysteriously. Some
workmen installed the shiny furnace
and air-conditioning units; others
straightened the caved-in brick wall
in the original brick-lined basement,
positioning metal poles evenly to carry
the weight of the house as they worked,
while I retched like a drunk behind
the summer kitchen when we came
to see the progress of the renovations,
fascinated to observe the changes
in the hundred-year-old house while
my body swelled in unison with
the renovation costs; but now, I sit
on the meticulously restored front
porch rocking back and forth, back
and forth in the mahogany rocker we
bought on e-bay, one of the few purchases
we made and stored in our new garage
that deer mice have not used for building
their own nests while we waited anxiously
all spring for the house to be finished, Max,
Ella and John beside me as we look out
on the road that leads to Lewistown.
