Creative or Crazy: Sometimes It’s a Coin Toss

Tags

beginner art, bible verses for homes, painting, word-art

Victoria sat beside me diligently watching as I put the finishing touches on a baby shower gift for my cousin.  “I wish I could paint like you, Mamma.  I can’t paint at all,” she complained.

“Technically, I’m not painting.  I’m writing.  This is no great skill, sweetie,” I assured her.   I had replicated the Suessian poem Baby, Oh Baby, The Places You’ll Go in the shape of a dinosaur.  I had to write the entire poem in said dino shape four times before I got my spacing and letter size just right.  And even then, some letters were wonky, the word “scrumpulous” folded in on itself inside the brontosaurus’ foot, and I realized too late that I had given him the wrong type of tail. The gift recipients seemed not to notice the flaws immediately, and I was grateful.

But I was also inspired.  Driven.  Hooked.

Victoria and I traipsed to our local craft stores the next night in search of a wreath for our front door, and I suggested we just go “look” at the canvases.  They were on sale.  Half-off.  I left Michael’s with a large grapevine wreath (which aren’t so much grapevine anymore as they are tangles of leaves and twigs.  What’s up with that?) and a 36×48 canvas, labeled “Artist Professional Level 1: Beginner”… mostly because it was cheaper, but also because, really, there’s no sense kidding myself.

That’s the basis of this project, but here’s the history.  I originally set out this summer to make two word-art prints for Dom’s birthday.  One would be lyrics of songs that make me think of him, and the other would be quotes from my favorite love-story books.  I gave each a different design so that they would be similar but not the same, and filled in the background with more corresponding text.  This is the result:

Since I couldn’t work on these prints in Dom’s presence and I was itching to keep drawing and word-arting (making up your own words is a fine art, too, you see), I decided to bring the bible verses forward from within our walls where I wrote them in 2012.  I wanted them all in one place where I could view them, and I wanted them to form a picture.  So I shaped words and verses into a tree design and got this:

But I drew this on poster board, which is totally not standard frame size (who knew?) and therefore all but useless unless I wish to thumb-tack it to my wall or hang it on the fridge.  So I figured with a little perseverance I could re-create the tree on a larger canvas.  And since this is for my enjoyment, I could take as long as I need to get it just right.  So began the process:

This photo was taken about an hour too late, actually.  I should have taken the picture before the darker color was applied to the canvas, the point at which it looked as if Mabel had stuck her nose in yellow paint and sniffed all over the canvas.  The same point at which I sat back on the floor, stared up at the easel and said to myself, “Holy crap…I’m worse at this than I thought I’d be!”

It is at this moment that I feel compelled to beg mercy from the judgments of true artists.  I realize I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to painting.  Refer once again to the post title, please.

Over the next few nights I dabbled in my art project, adding swirly verses and wondering if there was some way to use more color on the canvas and blend it so that it looked more like sunlight behind the tree.  I determined that for my skill level, there was not.

For the next several weeks (er, months) I worked on it a little at a time.  I took over the upstairs game room, setting up my paints and easel near the window for good light, and indulgently leaving a mess no one had to clean up or look at.  I totally felt like Ally in The Notebook, painting in the room Noah created just for her.  Except that I was fully dressed.

Now, here we are, already in another year, and with the Christmas decorations all put away there is a gaping blank space on my living room wall just waiting for the finished tree.  And tonight, that blank wall is filled with the verses that have carried me through the process of making this house our home.  Of course, it’s only now that I realize my efforts to make the canvas match the wall were too well-coordinated.  The canvas blends right into the wall, making the picture look not nearly as artful as I had hoped.  When I lamented the fade-away quality of my color choices, Dom asked what could be done to correct it.  Ahem… start over?

Maybe next year.

 

 

The Dirt on My Green Thumb

Tags

flower beds, flowers, gardening, hydrangea, lemon tree, palm tree, tomatoes, watering

When I arrived home from the hospital after giving birth to my first child, I was greeted by a slew of new house plants sent by well-wishing friends.  While I loved the plants for their color and life, I was overwhelmed by the obligation to keep them alive.  I could remember to feed the baby…wasn’t that enough? The thought of more than Aaron depending solely on me for survival almost sent me into a panic attack.  I still maintain that giving a new mother one more thing to feed and care for is borderline sadistic.  Balloons are equally cheery, require no water, and no one is appalled when they wilt after three days.  Just sayin’…

My grandmother would water my plants for me each week when she came to stay with us, and would frequently ask if I had thought to water them while she was gone.  I would stammer my response and duck my head.  For Christmas that year she gave me a silk African violet plant.  Silk…because, in her words, that was the only kind that stood a chance at my house.

When Victoria was born, Aunt Maxine gave me a beautiful pink hydrangea.  Now, I’m a Louisiana girl who regularly subscribes to Southern Living magazine and would love nothing more than to duplicate the “fresh-cut hydrangea bouquet” look for my dining room table.  I love hydrangeas like no other flower.  But here I was, a new mom again, and the hydrangea sat in a pot in the front flower bed for more than a few months.  The tiny pink petals faded to cream, and then to gray (ugh!) and I feared that Aunt Maxine would see what a terrible plant mom I was after I had sworn to help it thrive in honor of both her and my daughter.  As Aunt Maxine struggled with cancer I could have kicked myself for not keeping that plant alive.  After she passed away, I believed she would know my shameful secret .  I whispered an “I’m sorry” into the heavens and vowed to someday have a pink hydrangea in my yard dedicated to her memory.  This week I bought and planted two pink hydrangeas: one for Aunt Maxine and one for Victoria.

In the Spring of 2011 I dragged my Mom shopping with me at local nurseries where I bought about $400 worth of beautiful plants for my newly re-designed flower beds.  Gardenias, hydrangea, hostas, ligustrum, begonias, an angel trumpet, azaleas and canas, not to mention geraniums, gerbera daisies and lilies.  As [my] luck would have it, 2011 was the year that we had a drought combined with 110-degree days.  I remembered to water some of my plants, but truth be told, it was a pain to go outside and move the sprinkler around.  Plus, I would often forget to turn off the water.  Having the sprinkler run all night long does horrendous things to one’s water bill, and I eventually stopped turning it on altogether.  I lost all but four of the twenty or so plants that I had purchased.  As the year drew to a close and Dom and I were deciding to build a new house I insisted that whatever we did, I had to have a sprinkler system.  With a timer.

I did manage, for two years or so, to host a vegetable and herb garden in my backyard.  It actually thrived — except for my tomatoes, whose 14 plants yielded only about 14 tomatoes all season.  I don’t know where I went wrong there, but I know it wasn’t entirely a reflection of my ability since everything else seemed to grow with gusto.

My Lemon Tree 🙂

I genuinely love plants now, and Spring lights a fire inside me like nothing else.  I spent Easter weekend getting dirty in my new flower beds.  I brought a few plants from the old house when we moved: the Angel Trumpet, various herbs and my lemon tree.  But heirloom plants are the best, in my opinion.  So far I have a yaupon holly and Indian hawthorn from my mother; cannas, lillies and irises from Dom’s Aunt Pam (the irises came from Dom’s Grandma Zern – many thanks to Uncle Harold for digging them up and loading them into my van!); daylily bulbs from my mother-in-law; pineapple guava plants, a peach tree and two fig trees from one of my Dad’s co-workers; and boxwoods and a tulip tree from Dom’s Aunt Bobbie.  (Aunt Bobbie supplied us with lots of great plants at the old house at a time when I was finally taking an interest in my landscaping.)  And the pièce de résistance, my palm tree: 12 feet tall and gorgeous, my builder hooked me up with this one in January.  I only had to pay for the landscaping crew to bring it to me and plant it wherever I pointed.  As my grandmother would say, “You can’t beat that with a stick!!”

The palm tree before any other plants…January 2013

Future plans include a vegetable garden in the new backyard, as well as a butterfly garden where I want to grow jasmine and honeysuckle and maybe some knock-out roses just outside of Victoria’s bedroom window.  And I’m also going to attempt to keep a terrarium in my large fish tank on the patio.  (Wish me luck!)  All in good time, I know.  To garden is to practice patience, and we all know I could use the practice.

Blinded!

I knew when we moved in that we were going to need blinds in our windows.  Aaron’s room is on the front of the house, and I was surprised that he didn’t complain when he learned that he was going to be sleeping in there with no window coverings.  I didn’t know who to call for estimates and figured I’d probably be ordering wooden blinds online anyway.   Not having a clue what else might be important, my primary goal was to find blinds that would match the paint color of my window trim.  And so I Googled.

And Googled.

And Googled.

Then one Saturday after Mass we headed to our favorite pizza place for some fine dining and VOILA!!  Right there, across the street from our pizza parlor was a blind and drapery company.  Who knew???  (Just goes to show sometimes we only see what we’re looking for.)  I didn’t even bother calling anyone else.  Quite honestly, after living on this older end of town for the past 13 years, Dom and I are more than happy to patronize businesses who choose to stay over here rather than venture to the “newer” (and gawd-awful busier) side of Shreveport.  David Carroll’s Blinds and Draperies had us, quite literally, at hello.

I called them up and scheduled a visit for an estimate.  Mike, the store founder’s son, drove out to our house and measured all the windows, petted Mason and Mabel, and showed me four fans of color choices.  We went through the house holding the colors up in each window to make sure we got the closest match.  Turns out, it’s SPOT ON!!!

(Look, Mom! I even made my bed today!!)  And no, I haven’t decided what to put on the walls yet…

The blinds were installed in just under two hours.  We ended up only covering the windows across the front of the house, in the master bedroom, and in the upstairs bonus room… all for considerably less money than I was anticipating, which made me (in the words of Duck Dynasty) happy, happy, happy!

I omitted the option to put coverings on the living room windows, though I asked for a quote anyway.  I love the openness and light, and Mike agreed that it would be a shame to cover it up.  Maybe someday, but not yet…  We gotta leave one set of windows for Mabel’s nose prints!

Fenced and Free!

Tags

back yard, dogs, driveway, fence building, privacy fence, yard dogs

What began in September has finally, FINALLY been completed: the fence that surrounds our new backyard is finished, putting me and The Mabellini on Cloud Nine!!

So, yeah, it only took us five months to build our fence. (No, we don’t hire out. Har har.) Before the autumn weather kissed Daylight Savings Time goodbye, the only time we had to work on the fence was in the evenings after our real-job workdays. We started on the 150-foot stretch across the back of the property because that was the least obtrusive to the construction crews who were still building our house. And after several weeks of that leg, we finally got to come up the side of the yard to the driveway. But then that’s where we lagged. Dom’s one ER visit and my NINE trips to the eye doctor to resolve the hell that began as wood dust blowing into my eye pretty much brought us to a standstill.

After we moved in, we deliberated about where to connect the fence to the house, and how to shape it around the driveway (which has a lovely inwardly-rounded edge nearest the garage). Dom and I each had ideas of what we wanted, but those ideas didn’t always mesh together. Ultimately, the one thing we could agree on was that we just wanted it finished.

For the most part, building the fence was a family affair. My parents and Dom’s dad spent many weekend mornings working on the fence with us. I daresay we would still have only half of a fence if it weren’t for all of them. Dom and I tackled a small part of the fence alone one blistery cold morning. (I live in Louisiana, folks. “Blistery” is anything below 50 degrees with the wind blowing.) We happened to be working in the soggiest part of the yard that day. I think I lasted 45 minutes before I finally huffed that I was freaking COLD thankyouverymuch, that I had stepped in a mud puddle which soaked through my shoe and into my sock, and I was DONE!! We accomplished so much more when the weather was good and we had help.

Dom, Daddy, Pop and Mom in the home stretch!

As much of a pain as it might have been to plan and build the fence ourselves, the bigger pain was walking Mabel on a leash a thousand times a day, especially in the early morning or late evening when the temperature hovered well below what I consider comfortable. She tolerated the leash as well as could be expected, but she yearned to run free. Mason, on the other hand was never a flight risk. At age 13, the biggest problem for him is having the stamina to walk back to the house after wandering so far out into the yard. Both pups would benefit from a fenced backyard where we no longer had to be concerned for their safety.

“Which way is the door, man??”

As the last picket was being screwed into place, Victoria opened the back door to let Mabel out – without a leash for the first time in nearly two months. Mabel sprung out the door like a horse at the track. She raced as fast as she could back and forth across the yard, kicking up leaves as she dug in to change direction. I swear that dog was smiling the whole time.

Poca Voglia

Tags

home names, little wishes

I’ve always wanted to name my house – ever since the days of my childhood when I would watch Dallas and marvel at the majesty of Southfork.  Of course, I knew I would not likely have anything as vast as a Southfork of my own, but the thought of a place with a name – a distinct identity – was intriguing.

Our old house was warm and friendly, but never quite name-worthy.  The name would come some day when I fulfilled the dream of building my own house.

That day is now.

Any appropriate name would need to be Italian (duh), and so I spent weeks in my “spare” time google-translating phrases that were personal, yet meaningful.  Stately, yet modest.

Weeks, I tell ya.  Weeks.

(By the way, this is exactly why I don’t have a tattoo.  Such a permanent item would need to be, in my estimation, an all-encompassing graphic rendition of my personality, beliefs and ideals.  Its meaning and message would need to stand the test of time.  I mean, really…how would I ever decide on one?)

I also had standards for not only what the name would mean, but for how it sounded when spoken.  It couldn’t be cumbersome.  It needed to sound lyrical.  It needed to roll. Google Translate and that little Italian voice inside my phone had their work cut out for them.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the names I tried and cast aside.  In the end, one name won out because of its meaning and its melody.  Poca Voglia (pronounced POKE-a VOHL-e-yah) means “little wish.”   This house began as a little wish twenty years ago when Dom and I sat in the student center at our university and he drew me an abstract picture on a napkin of the home we would someday build together.It’s probably hard to see on this scanned and faded napkin, but that’s the house in the foreground with a pond in the back.  And a dog.  No house is a home without a dog.  😉

I am full of little wishes.  But I am also full of gratitude and contentment.  Poca Voglia.  Welcome home.

2012

Tags

2012, year in review

Originally, I wanted to write something meaningful to summarize what 2012 has meant for us.  But we were inundated with building a house, so we didn’t really take time to make a whole lot of memories outside of that process.  Now that I have my computer set up (still minus internet access, which is a pain in the butt) I took a moment to review the pictures of 2012.

Suffice it to say I am no photographer.

Most of these were taken with my phone.  I started rocking the camera app once iOS began allowing me access to the camera without entering my phone’s passcode.  Heh heh…fear me now.  Victoria tried to get me on Instagram, and I think I’m there.  Is it a bad sign that I don’t know for sure??

Anyhoo, here’s our year in review: (Drum roll….)

January:  My new van hit 5,000 miles and was due its first tire rotation.  (Bear with me, it gets better.  Um, sort of…)

February: My co-workers announced my age to my neighborhood.

March: This was our nightly ritual at the old house… we all headed up the stairs to bed, led by the pups.  Mabel would run up first and hide behind the door frame in order to attack Mason when he reached the top of the stairs.  Every.  Single.  Night.

April:  Looks like we didn’t have too much going on in April, but apparently there was a full moon one night that I thought looked cool.  (Yes, I realize now that I lied when I said it would get better. Ahem. Moving on…)

May: One random Saturday dinner after Mass.  This is Victoria with Papa.

June: Ahhh, sweet summer nights.  Let the kids stay up late and put on some coffee.  Dom slaughters us in Monopoly every time.

July: For Independence Day we visited my family in East Texas.  Kathy taught Vic how to do a headstand on yoga blocks.

August: By now we were moved in with my parents, and my sweet boy turned 12.

September: Victoria finally decided to get her ears pierced.

October:  Contractors poured our driveway, and I wrote our names in the back corner.

November: My dad bought himself an iPad, like, a week before his birthday.  Mom hates when he does that!  But here they are, happily screening out together.

December:  On the very last day of 2012 here is Mabel, looking out our office window to see what 2013 will bring.  (Yeah, right.  She’s not thinking that far ahead…she’s hoping a squirrel will skip by so she’ll have something to bark at!)

Happy New Year, friends.  May 2013 be your best year yet!!

Jesus, a Hammer and a Nail

Processes are important to me.  They mark beginnings and endings.  I have a mental sequence of processes for the projects in my life.  As we wind down the building and gear up for the moving, my process takes on a new dimension.  And as you have seen, I tend to tie a lot of my spirituality into my processes.  This next phase will be no different.

As the house was built, it was important to me that my God be a part of it all.  Hence, the bible verses everywhere beneath the sheetrock.  I felt like He needed to be truly represented in the bones of the home so that I would be constantly reminded of his word and direction.  As we get ready to move in, it seems only fitting that He be the first inhabitant of the house, in a visible and symbolic way.

One of our wedding gifts was a crucifix that I had picked out. It has hung in our bedroom for 16 years now. It will hang in our new bedroom for many more. And in my traditional, ritual sort of way, I have determined that it shall be the first thing moved in to the new house. Before any boxes, before any furniture. Before we get busy with the unpacking and the finding of long-lost items. He has to be our first and primary resident.

Jesus was a carpenter. Hammer and nails were the tools of his trade.

Jesus was a sacrifice. Hammer and nails were the tools of his execution.

So when my builder tells me it’s time to move in I will gather my crucifix, a hammer and a nail and cermoniously bring Jesus in first.  Because I believe that putting him first is the only way to follow him.

Lessons from Advent: Part One

Tags

Advent, Christmas preparations, God's plan - My pride, home building

I have long held the belief that we are put here on earth to learn to love each other as God loves us.  I also believe that in order to do so, we must look for God in each other.  So it stands to reason, in my mind at least, that each and every personal encounter with each other can bring us closer to God, if we let it.  If we are truly looking for God in each other, then it is not uncommon to recognize Him in our everyday conversations.

And so my beliefs and my attitude have been profoundly shaped recently through this process of building our house.  I have earnestly tried to keep this house just a wee bit “above the earth” – as evidenced by the truckloads of dirt underneath it.  (Just kidding…sort of.)  When we began, it was a project.  Something to do and dream about and plan.  Then we broke ground and it became something to watch grow.    We had waited sixteen years to build a house, while the dream floated somewhere in the back of our minds, waiting for the “perfect” timing.  Living any day on this earth should prove to all of us that there is no such thing as “perfect timing,” so we finally, cautiously moved forward.

As the frame went up, it became something to breathe God into.  I feared that all that waiting and planning and dreaming would crash down around me if I put too much faith in and emphasis on the building itself.  I had to keep my mind in the right place, my creative heart aimed at my own Creator, my hopes pinned to the promise that no matter what happens on this earth the next life is sweeter than I can possibly imagine.   I etched his Word into the frame and the foundation, praying constantly that this earthly home will always point me toward my eternal home.

And then the most amazing thing happened.  This gorgeous house developed before my eyes.  It’s far better than anything I could have planned on my own.  Dom keeps giving me the credit.  While I picked out fixtures and countertops and paint colors, I knew there was something more powerful at work here.  I knew we were being blessed.  And I knew we were first blessed with our builder.

Through five months of building this house, we have taken advice and guidance from our builder, Dominick.  We have weighed options and made decisions together.  We have dug holes, shopped, and painted together.  We have laughed and worried together.  We have talked each other down from the rafters when necessary.  He has sent me to Home Depot more times than I care to count.  (He’s going to read this at some point, and laugh at that!!)  In short, we trust him.  And I think he genuinely enjoys making our home beautiful, even if we do drive him insane.  😉

As Thanksgiving drew near I was admittedly disappointed to learn that we would not be ready to move in as I had hoped.  I had already made December plans for the house, and thought surely I’d be moving in amongst everyone enjoying Thanksgiving Dinner at my in-laws’ next door.  Plus, my quickly-dwindling vacation time at work could be paired with the long weekend and voila!  I’d have a whole week to move!  But alas…

The thought of waiting until sometime in December frayed my nerves and bashed my plans.  It took me more than a few moments to deal with it properly.  What about Christmas decorations?  What about Christmas parties?  What about the tree and the lights and the hot cocoa in front of the fireplace???  WHAT ABOUT MY HOLIDAAAAAAAYYYYYY????!!!

On a mostly subconscious level I have always known that this process really isn’t about me and Christmas lights.  In slowly and begrudgingly letting go of my Christmas plans, I began to see Advent in a new light.  This is our preparation and waiting period – we are waiting for something wonderful, something that fulfills a plan.  And yet, even as big a part of my world as building this house is right now, it is nothing compared to the real meaning of Advent. The preparation of our hearts to receive God’s grace is far more important than the preparation for a Christmas party.

I began to see a larger “God-moment” forming.  As I reflected on my feelings of impatience I saw several parallels: my desire to move things along at a quicker pace paired with situations and plans that I did not know or understand; my disappointment over letting go of my own timeline and letting someone else “drive;” my slow and steady realization that I do not control everything in my world – nor should I.

It all made sense when I just shut up and listened to my own advice: “trust the builder.” This process has gone smoothly for five months with my builder at the wheel.  Why should it be any different here at the end?  It wasn’t until I gave up my own selfish plans that the proverbial light bulb turned on. And then I saw it – the next parallel – the lesson I am to learn from all this and apply to my life in a much broader and more direct way…

Trust the builder.

How many times have I made my own plans and then “life” got in the way – the building of moments that we so often take for granted?  How many times has what I ended up with been so much more amazing than what I had originally planned for myself? How many times does my own Creator have to remind me to trust him?

Trust the builder.

Through my own building experience, God has used Dominick to show me that what is in store for me is so much greater than what I can imagine or what I can plan on my own.  Just as Dominick must take his time in making the house perfect for me and Dom, God takes His time in making us perfect for Him.  It gives me a sense of peace to see Him working on me through other people.  (And, admittedly, it’s a sort of permission to be so messed up.) Patience is crucial – and it comes relatively easy when we really let go and truly – once again – trust the builder.

Rocky Horrors: Dammit, Granite! I Love You!!!

Tags

EPA, granite countertops, home building, radon

This post was originally intended for my other site, The Purpose Driven Mom, where I blog all about healthy living and such.  I decided to post it here too since it is all about Tha House. 😉

So, you all know we’re building a house, and we are just about ready to move in.  The floors are being laid, we have lights and heat, and it looks more and more like a home every day.  I am really pleased with all my countertops.  This island is my favorite part:

As the granite guys were finishing up the install and smoothing out my seams, my builder – honestly unaware of my commitment to healthy, chemical-free living – casually commented to me that granite emits a carcinogenic gas.

WHAAAAAAA???!!!!!!

I looked at all my beautiful granite, which comprises every single countertop in my entire home, and wondered how in the heck I could have missed that news.  Maybe because I never thought I’d be building a house and installing granite in the first place??

So, you KNOW I did some research, which included browsing through a 182-page document on foreign trade where I learned that Kazakhstan extended its ban on light oil imports until June of 2012 and Russia won’t allow pig imports because of some five-syllable disease potential.  But, back to my granite and that nasty radon scandal.   Turns out, most of this news came out in 2008, and there hasn’t been much ado about it since.  So what was all the hype, anyway?

Granite, being a naturally occurring material (stone) is going to naturally have some uranium, radon, etc in it.  As do sand, concrete, clay, bricks, and rocks.  As the radon is released, it can poison the air, and breathing it in excessive amounts could of course lead to cancer.

Do not think that I take this lightly. But I’m also not going to take one source’s word for it.  So I kept on digging, hoping to find anything written after 2008 that either proved or disproved all the accusations. Accusations, as it turns out, that can be traced back to people who have vested interest in companies that compete with granite countertop producers.  Go figure.  So where’s an honest mom to turn?

I found this guy who broke it down and linked to some non-partial parties and offered some mind easing solutions for those of us who have a tendency to go off the rails when faced with news like this, especially as it might affect our health and our children’s safety.  Basically, even though I have granite scattered throughout my home, I will face more danger from the radon in my brick and my foundation and my driveway than I will from my countertops.  The good news is that as the radon (which is minimal) is released from these earthy substances, it dissipates into the air around us, so if our overall air quality is good, then our worries are nil.  Granite that seems to produce the most radon and radiation comes from more exotic countries and usually is in the higher price ranges because of the cost of importing it. Additionally, the EPA suggests low-cost test kits for homeowners who are concerned about the radon exposure in granite countertops.

So while I will completely wig out about hormone replicators in beauty products and petroleum by-products in our foods, I’m not going to sweat my countertops so much.  My research and the lack of current arguments against granite pretty well convinces me that my bigger threats lie elsewhere, like that damn Halloween candy that just won’t go away.

Moving the Anchor

Part 1: Setting Sail

Let me start by saying there is not a font big or bold enough in the whole wide world to express my excitement here:   WE SOLD THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So many of you have followed our ups and downs with this process.  Your encouragement and prayerful support have been life rafts in a sea of anxiety, and we are grateful to you.

These final, perfect buyers fell in love with the house instantly (the way it’s supposed to happen, thankyouverymuch).  They were genuinely excited and exceptionally reasonable.  Given our previous buyers’ dispositions, this was a long overdue and welcome relief!! They have two young children – a boy and a girl – and the realtor told me that The Mrs. loved the harlequin diamonds I had painted on Victoria’s bedroom wall.  I was so overwhelmed with appreciation for these buyers that I could not wait for them to move in.  Apparently, they couldn’t wait either, because we got a message that said they were ready to close…three weeks early.  Wooo-hooo!!

The four of us dropped by the dear old house the night before closing to tidy up and make sure we hadn’t left any personal items behind.  As soon as we walked in I burst into tears.  Again.  (Somebody check my hormone levels, would ya???)  We said our goodbyes to each room, and then Dom gently urged me back toward the door.  As we all stood together in the kitchen, we huddled up and Dom said a prayer, thanking God for the times we had in that house, good and bad, and for seeing us through it all.  And then we walked out for the last time.  Vic and I cried all the way down the driveway.  We’re such girls.

Now, you know nothing I do happens without some degree of weirdness, so here it is.  After we signed all the papers and were done with the house, I was equally happy for us and our buyers.  But for the next three nights I had vivid dreams about needing to stop by the house for various reasons.  I would wander into either the garage or the back yard or the kitchen and suddenly realize that I was trespassing.  And then I would freeze, just about to be “caught,” and would suddenly wake up.

On the fourth night I had a crazy dream about the new house, in which someone had decorated my kitchen area with large, sprawling, bejeweled ceramic cats.  When I told mom about the horrendous décor in my dream, she offered a bright side: “Hey, look…at least you finally left the old house!”

My friend Jill diagnosed me with Separation Anxiety.  As odd as it sounds, I had to agree.  I am going to miss that house.

Part 2: New Waters

Eight minutes away at our new address, all my cabinets are installed and stained, and the painters are putting the finishing touches on the trim and walls.  It’s looking absolutely fabulous – beyond my wildest dreams.  (No ceramic cats!) I started out saying that this was not going to be my dream home, but that it would be dreamy enough.  As it turns out, it is my dream home after all.  Every time something new is delivered and installed, I stare at it with my jaw open, just waiting for someone to pinch me.  I told my builder the other day that this whole house is more grand than I ever expected, and that I am astounded by the detail and impressiveness of every single thing.  He chuckled and said, “What did you expect?”  Honestly, I don’t know.  I don’t think I even knew what to expect.  What I do know is that I fall in love with my house even more every time I walk into it.

I recently spent about an hour and a half sitting in a lawn chair in my new kitchen, moving the emotional anchor from what is now our past to what will be our future.  Dom thought I’d lost my marbles.  I sat there in the calm, quiet emptiness of partially installed cabinetry and recalled where every bible verse is hidden behind sheetrock, just like I had said I wanted to do.  I imagined the kids doing homework at the kitchen table and the dogs barking in the yard.   I envisioned cool, quiet nights on the patio by a crackling fire and the home filled with family, friends and laughter.  I prayed and thanked God for the joy and ease of building this house.  I know what a blessing a home is, and though, essentially, it is but sticks and cement, it is filled with His word and blessed by His presence.  And though my earthly anchor may set firmly in that structure, I recognize that this peace is possible only with my soul anchored in Him.