My office is the only room in our house that doesn’t have a view of the St. Joe River. When we moved in I had intended that this room would be Earl’s office, while I would have one where I could watch the river flow by. He didn’t object.
But Earl’s office furniture was too big to fit through the door, so we brought it in from the back deck through the slider into what was to have been my office. It has been there ever since. As luck would have it, my office furniture was a perfect fit for the room without the view. I unpacked my belongings and settled in.
Now, seven years later, I don’t miss the river view, because every other room in the house has one; and I gaze out the windows as I prepare dinner, practice piano, or brush my teeth. In fact, I came to appreciate the view from my office window for what it is. Our own huge front lawn, which has seasonal flowers from April through October, is restful on the eye. The road, dotted with mailboxes, offers occasional interest as bikers and runners pass by. The fields across the road resembled a French farm, pastoral and peaceful. I loved it and considered it a more than fair exchange for switching offices with Earl.
But then the house began to appear like some ghost acquiring corporal status. First the foundation, then framing and siding and finally inhabitants. Along with these changes came noise and trucks and cars in the newly poured driveway. And a radio blaring whenever the owner works in his garage.
It’s been a couple years now; and I am still disappointed by this intrusion, even though I know you can’t really protect a view unless you own all the land and air rights around it. You can resist, but the energy is better put elsewhere. In my case, I’m adjusting once again; and if Earl ever buys new office furniture there will be a discussion about its size.
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