I am not Winston Churchill - whom I admire. So don't get me wrong when speaking of him. There is an immeasurable gulf between him and I.
Though a medal-hunter, seeker of glory, taker of risks, he was also a man who, by a certain age, had acquired a great deal, and supported it through effort. When he embarked upon the purchase of his estate, Chartwell, he went further than his resources, and though it was a home he loved, until his later years, it was always at risk.
Now, here was a man who could (and did) sustain the weight of an empire. But, beset by "The Black Dog", he was also a man who, by all accounts was incredibly difficult to live with. His wife bore the burden of their marriage with stoicism (and apparently, adultery), while with his children, it was a mixed bag of results.
Was it worth it? The man not only (again) sustained an empire (and, to be honest, the western world), but sustained the estate of Chartwell, with all its attractions. But was he a joy to his family?
Tonight I sit by the fire pit, watching the embers shift colors and the logs char into the texture of mottled brain tissue. Overhead, the stars shine brightly, and the earth pays for those stars with its heat, and the night becomes frigid - crystalline. My estate looms about me. Far off, a watch dog barks & bays, perhaps warning of the coyotes that haunt this dale. The distant hum of the interstate, the glowing lights of far-off subdivisions, and the deep, dark, black of the wooded landscape all lie beyond the flickering light of the fire.
Turning back toward the house, magnificent and alit, with ceiling fans turning behind paned windows, and string lights glowing beneath the pergola, the eaves of the roof lit from below by LED brilliance, my family sleeping within... what do I feel but weight. The weight of all this... property. And I, insignificant, insufficient, to sustain it.
Now, this is a mood.
Months from now, when the weather turns, and I float in the pool, beer in hand, floppy hat concealing my face from the sun, I might not feel the weight. I might feel at home, at peace.
Months from now.
But for now. The Black Dog. And joy withheld.
