I hold the keys.

As the key turned in the lock the door opened to reveal a cold and vacant house. Every visible nail hole, the picture shadows, all of the awful forest green molding, the fancy floral curtains, each stain in the carpet, the bright blue paint, the knob and tube wiring, the lack of ventilation in the bathroom, the quaint original kitchen, the scary unfinished basement, the painted white brick fireplace and the original window panes all called out to me. The day was, June 5, 2004. It was the day we closed and gained access to our new lovely house. I worked tirelessly scrapping and sanding the forest green paint. My hands broke and cracked. I picked out a nice whispering white paint and slowly painted every foot of molding in our house. The place seemed brighter. My Love and I visited every light fixture store within the state and still had a hard time choosing the right fixtures. Rooms were painted. Ventilation was installed in the bathroom and kitchen. The curtains were taken down. The carpet was removed. The brick fireplace was sanded down and tiled over. Our electrician pulled out 300 feet of knob and tube wiring. Our kitchen was remolded. Our basement renovated. More lately we have installed a new bathroom, gutted our possessions, cleaned our roof, painted the exterior of our house, replaced our front porch and repainted all the molding. My yard will be saved for a different post. My hands are still broken and cracked.

Most notably though, we have lived. We have lived in our home for 8 years. It is our first home. We have loved and we have cried in this home. Both kids were brought from the hospital to this home. This home has hosted countless parties and has entertained friends and family. This home has kept us dry and safe. This home has awaken us with its creeks and groans and has rocked us back to sleep. This home has been witness to our happiest moments and to our most regrettable moments. Our home holds us in time and in space. It grounds us to our community, to our family and to our memories. Living is not easy. We have struggled with our home and it has struggled with us.

And now we are about to part ways. How is this properly done? I am not sure. Tonight I am wishing my home could talk. We could laugh about the dust and the clutter and ponder the more significant topic of relocation. After May 25th my home will cease to be mine. I will never enter this house again. We will never again commiserate together. It will melt into the background for me. It will become someone else's home. I dont think I am ready.

How do you properly say, good-bye to a house?  Anyone out there care to comment?

Limbo Land. Too Many Questions. Not Enough Answers.

So it is a new year. A year that will be better (different?) than the next.

Here I am, 12 months later. I wonder if there has been any growth? Any forward movement? Biologically, my kids are one year older. My relationship with My Love is one year longer. My kitty has stopped biting. My house has turned 100 years old. My hair has been growing. There have been really fun moments. There have been really sad moments. There have been really angry moments. There have been really overwhelming moments. There have been really loving moments.

But what does this all mean for me? It seems a bit ironic (is this the right word?) that I started writing in April. My son turns seven (7!!) in two weeks. What a peculiar month. Not winter - spring wants to begin, but there always has to be something holding it back. Limbo land. March has blown it's winds. April tries so hard.

I remember laying in bed with my almost seven year old when he was just a newborn. Both of us falling asleep right after eating. Lying in any position - just tyring to get the sleep that our bodies were due. I would wake sooner and gaze out our window. Stuck in my position until he woke I would dream about my yard and what I wanted to accomplish. The weeds needed pulling. There were blooms that I was missing. I longed to feel the wind that the trees were experiencing. But I stayed put. Allowed him to wake naturally. He ate again and again we were plunged into a deep sleep. Waking only to dream and eat. I missed an entire season. I think now, that is why Spring is so important to me. I don't want to miss another one. But really what did I miss? So much had been gained, right?

So here I am. Happy spring. Happy writing. Happy growing. The catch is, however - I am hard pressed to come up with any non-biological growth. Where are my dreams tonight? What do I yearn for? Has the moment become too big? Have a stopped looking beyond it? There should be goals, right? I yearn for dissatification. I need to pry the bodies off of me and get up, right?

Limbo land. I am an imperfect soul. I want to grow. I want to do right. I want to expereince the joy that happens spontaneously - but I also dont want to lose track of the weeds. I think I have lost track. How do I envelop both?