It's hard to believe that we are only a week into this project and already most of the house has been cut down and carted off.
Where the third floor used to be, there is nothing but air now.
The second floor has not fared much better. The basement is pretty well cleared out and even the stairs that led into the house are nowhere to be found. The entire back wall of the house is one giant Flintstone-style picture window looking out onto the steep, bare slope that used to be a tree-covered back yard. And of course, the ever present port-a-potty serves as a silent, if at times smelly, witness to all that is going on here.
Overall, the house is taking it all with dignity and grace. Defiant to the end, it continues to stand tall, even as its skeleton is systematically dismantled, and it reminds us that the scaffold that supports its black
hijab is leaning on the house, and not the other way around. I am not sure how long it took to build this house back in 1947, but the fact that we can undo all that work in a matter of days is an eloquent statement about the nature of man and the nature of life. It is far easier and quicker to destroy than to create.
Fortunately, for us anyway, the deconstruction of this house is just a prelude and far more creation lies ahead us than destruction in our wake. Soon, we will step past the rubble and into the light.
(Photos courtesy of Ms. Camille)
2 comments:
Oh the pain that house must feel. I hear the screams. I hear the crys. Ha ha.
When do we get to see the plans of what the new place is expected to look like?
Ok, so I am little bit melodramatic, but that's no reason to make fun of the little house's suffering. How would you like to be reconstructed from inside out? Ouch!
I would be happy to show you the plans, just offer to buy me lunch and we have a deal.
B.
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