Saturday, May 14, 2011

Girl Cave

The concept of the man cave is one I get. I really, really get it. Indeed, I even appreciate it: it's pretty funny. It pokes gently at the core truth of those simple, primitive desires of many men--all I need, mate, is my machines, a pretty calendar to lay my eyes on every now and again the kind with nice headlights if you know what I mean, the calming scent of gas in the air, and enough time to work on my grease manicure--at the same time it's bizarrely pre-feminist, and a touch repellent for that. It posits women as the enemy, the perennial naggers who need to be escaped.

I am here to tell you, though, it's women who need a girl cave. Upstairs or down, there's nowhere to run: the dust bunnies mock you (they have a particularly wheedling voice, too), the Lego-strewn boy's room weeps, the stovetop begs, the stack of permission slips, applications, bills, and plans looks dourly on: I bet you're not going to deal with me today, either? I thought so.

No, we're going to the Girl Cave, where we can escape into a world of relative order (admittedly because there is simply less stuff than in the main house) and where there's supposed to be dirt, so we don't ever feel a duty-shirker here. Some kitty litter on the oil stains, a quick broom, et voila. Peace, quiet, and motorcycles. Oh, and whatever's playing on the college radio station. It comes in on the radio in the Girl Cave, though not in the house. Magic, eh?

This is my secret world. There's the Lario on the right and the Teutonic Hornet on the left, ready for an oil change. (Unseen behind them, under its black shroud, is a friend's old Kawasaki, awaiting resurrection after two years--oh, what a day that will be, anticipation growing with each new arrival of parts in envelopes and boxes.) I love my small collection of parts and tools and fluids; I love that they stand at attention on the shelves, patiently waiting for their moment. I rarely get rid of anything so long as it has once belonged in, around, or on a motorcycle. This is therefore a museum of my own making, of my particular history. (To throw a piece of it away would be like, say, disposing of a letter my father wrote me when I was away at school. Never. A part of him, and of us.) Also, you never know when something might come in handy. The weirdest odds and bits can be just the things you need--they are comforts for the future. Who, for instance, would have thought that I'd ever have a Lario again? Certainly not me. But in the bottom of the toolbox I find some bolts and sockets that fit only her.

This is where I escape--from the place that would hold me back, on a Sisyphean slope where the same household tasks, done, must be redone upon the morrow. This is where I escape--to the place of wishful dreaming and forward motion.

How can you tell this is a girl cave? Here's a hint: see the chandelier?




7 comments:

ronald said...

Melissa -

Other subtle hints that this is a girl cave: No big honkin' floor-to-ceiling tool boxes front and center. No torches, lathes, saws, welding units or painfully loud machines dragged part-way across the floor, then abandoned. The discrete shelving is small and elegant for a garage. No barrel stuffed with oily rags, waiting for spontaneous combustion on a hot summer's day. No overturned beer cans, empty coffee cups, moldy doughnuts, indeterminate multi-colored furry food, as if lying in wait for King Tut's return. Most guys live for the detritus of their lives - by their very existence dedicated to completing the sentence: happy as a pig in . . .

Be well.

Shybiker said...

Handsome machines. And nice space. We all need a room of our own. Now where have I heard that before?

Melissa Holbrook Pierson said...

Ha. Ronald, you got me there. This is the refuge of a person who needs *other* people to bring over their truly meaningful tools. Sometimes I just stand around and stare at the calming emptiness . . .

Melissa Holbrook Pierson said...

Yes, Virginia, there IS a garage!

th_01 said...

chandeliers, bmws and larios.......a truly fine cave. Looks like you may need some seating. Maybe a lazyboy(girl)?

After the necessities my cave tends to fill with an interesting form/function art work. Bike parts, pieces of machines..

Oaky's pal said...

It's got to be the chandelier.

With me, it's goofy drafting tools: ruling pen, carpenter's chalk line, and old kerosene lanterns nobody knows I have.

Melissa Holbrook Pierson said...

Gosh, everyone's giving me such great interior decorating ideas. Perhaps, since it's *my* cave, I should unpack some of the boxes of books stored here that I couldn't fit into the new house; these have been with me for decades now, and I'll never get rid of them. So, a wing chair, an old oriental rug (from the dump), and bookshelves.

What this all reminds me is that the man/girl cave is really just a grown-up's version of the treehouse. I sure stocked mine, I can tell you. Pencils, flashlight, Swiss Army knife, and Ritz crackers were the stars of that show.