I’ve been sorting through my things during the last few months, trying to figure out what to keep, display and give away. Moving back into this house has come with a familiarity and warmth I wasn’t expecting. It feels like home — as I suppose it should since I’ve most of my adult life living within these walls.
There is some grace, too, in feeling so comforted here. I moved during a time of duress, fleeing an increasingly unhappy relationship. I unpacked boxes, watching as Nelson glared through French doors at a concrete patio. Where was the yard? He began to nervously lick his paws raw, unhappy about yet another change.
So, there isn’t land. Instead, we have found walking around the nearby lake and parks to be part of our daily routine. There still aren’t squirrels, but he’s found a neighborhood cat to chase up a tree or two. The kitchen holds memories of countless meals with friends. The garden was quickly planted and is producing bountifully. (We now pick half a bucket of tomatoes each morning, and more in the afternoon too, to keep the birds away.) The walls were repainted and new carpets made the space feel fresh.
Last weekend I spent hours working outside on that concrete patio — weeding the tiny strip of land, trimming the bougainvillea, fertilizing the squash, planting flowers by the front door and keeping the tiny ficus tree in check, it’s limbs always growing akimbo. The pantry is unpacked and tidy, my Mason jar collection steadily increasing with varied jars of jewel toned dry goods. The guest room is happily hosting a long-term guest — Kent — who graciously lives without complaint among the room’s bookshelves and sewing supplies. And I’m hanging art, making this space fully my own yet again.
The cathedral photo is from an area where I used to work in Nicaragua. The top black and white photograph is of my parents in high school and was taken in a photo booth. The bottom photo is of three friends in Colorado, laughing like maniacs. It is one of my all time favorites. The metal cross was purchased in Mexico and the gold D was painted last weekend as a nod to my family’s name.
Those two small frame that remain without photos: they are intentionally empty for now — reminders that the future is uncertain, but will more than likely be happier than I could have imagined. I have a summer of plans scheduled, including trips and dinners and parties. There will be plenty of photo opportunities. Laughter. Love.
In the meantime, I rock back on my heels, happier than I may have ever been. A job I love, a delightful and surprising new relationship, a dog who is no longer snacking on the baseboards, a full garden, a home with room for guests.
I am so thankful to be here.