I live on Holmes Lake. At least that's what I tell people. I like saying I live on a lake. It's a bit of a lie though. To live right on the lake, I would think I would need to be in a houseboat, ON the water, ON the Lake. I don't. But I still tell people I live on Holmes Lake. Another thing, I look out my back window and I can't see the lake. How can you live on Holmes Lake when you can't even see it? What I see is the dam. And the sky, and the moon, over Holmes Lake. I connect the dots I suppose and if I can see the moon and the moon can see the lake, well there you go, I live on Holmes Lake.
It just sounds so good to me to say that I live on a lake. Coming from places like New York State or Minnesota where lake living is a way of life, a way to brand yourself even, I like the sound of it. Say it with me, I Live on the Lake. It makes me feel special, like I've got a cabin up there in the woods, my own lake to paddle and fish. Nature at my beck and call. It's my getaway.
I used to live under the elevated subway in Queens. Called it the L as I remember. Every few minutes, another subway train would go screaming past the windows of our apartment. Who dreamed up such a transportational intrusion into daily life? When I didn't know any better, I would tell people I lived under the L at the end of the TriBoro bridge in Queens. I don't think it had a good branding effect. Who in their right mind would want to say they lived under a train?
Where we came from and where we are currently, often lead to thoughts of where we will be. Sometimes people ask me if we plan to stay in Lincoln. I don't like to answer questions about my life with an easy answer, so I say something like, Yes, until we die. I don't tell them what I'm thinking though, that heaven is my next home. For now, Holmes Lake will do. But one day, Heaven will be my home, and that sounds pretty good. I'll have a timber frame cabin, a lake and the fishing will be, well you know, out of this world.