Kevin Brennan Is Self-Publishing His New Novel
Apropos of nothing in terms of writing, but what a strange time it is here at Casa de Kev. We’re set up to move to our new house in just under three weeks, having lived quite happily in this old place for the last 15 and a half years.
The view in the pic above has been the background of our daily comings and goings all that time. A comfortable place, and one where we — unexpectedly, almost — started getting old! To think that when we arrived we were scarcely into our forties… You can do the math. When your days start skimming by like fence posts on a long drive, it’s hard to believe how many of them you’ve gone through.
Weird, too, when you start sorting your stuff to pack and you realize you haven’t laid eyes on some of it for 15 and a half years. You tucked it away in a bag or a box and forgot about it. You didn’t know you were even missing it until you opened up that box and saw it for the first time in ages, and you get a shiver of nostalgia and another reminder that you’re not the same person you were when you packed it away. Some hair is missing from your head. Some age spots and wrinkles have intruded. Your memories are still intact, for the most part, yet you need to air them out from time to time to make sure they weren’t dreams. (Maybe this is one reason we writers obsessively write things down.)
When we left San Francisco back in ‘97, we had an inkling we’d never live there again. We were right about that. But we would never have imagined we’d wind up spending the bulk of our mid-life in a little shingled cottage in a small town, or that we’d lose the particular people we lost, or that we had in store a number of surprises that would flavor these years like sugar, and pepper.
It’s not that I’m getting wistful about this house, which has been both a sweet spot to live and write as well as an exhausting antagonist at times, as old as she is. Times she nearly killed me! Then those others she gave me and my wife the nicest nest. Like all important relationships, there’s enough of both to have made it interesting.
No, I’m wistful about the life we led here.
Now we’re headed for the hills, where, while we can still ambulate without the aid of sticks or helpers, we intend to spend a lot of time on trails with a couple of dogs, savoring the days and feeling lucky.
Strange, though, to count down the nights left here and to look out that front window and know we have something new ahead after all this time.